


It Takes a Village

by haloud, MayGlenn



Series: To Raise A Child [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Arturo is the true hero of this story fyi, Big sister Rosa Ortecho, Bullying, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Jesse Manes is His Own Warning, Jim Valenti is in the doghouse where he belongs, Kid Fic, Michael's Emotional Support Backpack, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, fic is tagged malex but they are babiest babies so its definitely preslash, food insecurity, happy childhood au, no leopard geckos were harmed, that slow burn tag counts for all 3 parts of this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24256735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: There’s a world out there where it happened like this.Ten year old Michael Guerin runs away from a crappy foster home in Albuquerque. He gets on a bus to Roswell and doesn’t look back, and Roswell finds a place for him and keeps him safe.Everything else just falls into place.
Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Jim Valenti/Michelle Valenti, Michael Guerin & Arturo Ortecho, Michael Guerin & Rosa Ortecho, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Series: To Raise A Child [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751017
Comments: 235
Kudos: 243





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Our story begins in the year 2000.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claustrophobia CW for this chapter.

Michael was never afraid of the dark. Small, tight spaces were okay, too—sometimes they were even nice, felt familiar somehow. Loud noises, though, were a big, fat no, and there were other things Michael had decided he hated too, maybe even more than people. He hated the suffocating heat. He hated being thirsty, and he hated the taste of musty, warm bottled water. He hated being crushed by luggage, bruises piling on bruises every time they hit a pothole. He hated buses.

But there was nothing he hated more than Albuquerque. So here he was.

He wrapped his arms around his head to protect it; sweat stuck his shirt to his body and poured down his face. Sweat, not tears, because Michael was sick of crying, and he was thirsty already anyways, so he should stop wasting water by being a big baby.

Albuquerque hated Michael right back, but Roswell was the last place he saw his family. Miss Taylor from the first group home used to say on outings, Michael remembered, even though he couldn’t talk back then, that if you ever got lost you were supposed to go back to the last place you saw someone and wait. So they knew where to find you.

Michael was ready to wait. As long as he had to. He just needed to get there first. 

He hadn’t planned, really. Only for a day. So all he had was what he could stuff in his backpack—a couple notebooks, most of his clothes, the little knife he stole from Mr. Graves and kept under his pillow at night, and all the food he managed to save and steal yesterday and today. As soon as he saw the bus schedule—knew it went to Roswell, knew when it left, he knew he had to be there. And he didn’t have any money for the fare, so he waited until everyone wasn’t looking and crawled in underneath.

He hadn’t known how hot it would be. Or how long it would take. He looked it up on the map at school and did the math in his head how many miles were between Albuquerque and Roswell, but the journey seemed a lot longer now than it had then. Still, though, they were getting close. He could _feel_ it, a sort of itch in his head telling him something was coming, something was nearby, and it was only getting stronger.

Minutes later—ten, fifteen, twenty maybe? Time had gone all weird. But when the bus came to a stop in Roswell, he _knew._ Something out there was calling for him. He held his breath, waiting, waiting—at every other stop, the driver had come down and opened the hatch and Michael hid behind the biggest suitcase all the way in the back and gulped down grateful lungfuls of fresh air. 

He waited. Waited. This was the only chance he’d get; he had to be faster than the driver or the passengers and escape into the town before they got him. 

“ _C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…”_

But he didn’t hear the heavy thump of the driver’s feet on the steps. Just one pair of lighter feet, then nothing. Nothing. 

And he felt the shudder of the vehicle all around and underneath him when the driver brought the bus out of park.

No. _No._ Michael couldn’t, wouldn’t be left behind again, couldn’t spend another second trapped in this dark little space where he couldn’t even breathe, sore and battered. 

_No._ His entire _body_ screamed it, and he screamed out all the anger, all the hatred and fear, scrambled to the front of the luggage compartment to beat his fists against the hatch, flung out his arm—he flung out his arm and all the hate and anger went out with it, beat against the metal and the metal _gave_ and Michael had no _time_ to even blink or breathe—

He hit the dusty streets of Roswell and people screamed from the bus behind him but he had no time, and he ran.

…

The aliens needed his help, Jim Valenti knew. His ‘buddy,’ Jesse, was out of control, enough to continue a fifty-year conspiracy that the 1947 crash was a weather balloon or some shit and keep sentient beings imprisoned for the crime of being refugees. Enough to discredit Jim as Sheriff and to threaten to hurt his own son if Jim moved against him. 

So Jim had changed jobs, just that year, took a few classes, knew some of the right people, and in a small town could just transfer from one government job to the next. Director of Child Services. 

Michelle was a better Sheriff than he ever was. 

And from here, Jim could keep an eye on Alex. One more bruise on that kid’s face and Jim was going to have an abuse and neglect charge on Jesse Manes so fast that he’d get Alex somewhere safe before Jesse could do anything. And then—and then—

Yeah. Put him in the system, too old to get adopted, and get him bounced from home to home like those three kids in ‘97. Since that had worked so well the last time. 

He really needed a coffee, but the Crashdown was closed, and he didn’t hate himself enough for McDonald’s coffee just yet. So he stopped in the corner store, bought some sad-looking roses, and strolled by the Sheriff’s office, just to see what the Mrs. Sheriff Valenti was up to. 

“Jim!” Michelle’s face brightened to see him, but she brushed away the flowers, all business. “I’ve got a problem for you to solve.” 

“Kyle needs math homework help again?” Kyle was home with a babysitter now, but Jim had been planning on heading home to relieve her now. “You know I can’t help him—they changed math.” 

“No, it’s actually something you can do, I promise,” she said, handing him a slip of paper. “Got a call about a ‘suspicious child’ lurking around the desert.” 

Jim’s raised an eyebrow. “What’s suspicious about a child?” 

Michelle pursed her lips, glancing around the office. She couldn’t be seen, as the Sheriff of Roswell, to be disparaging one of its Great Families, but, in private, alone, with her husband, who understood, she said, “Mrs. _Evans_ called it in.” 

Jim actually laughed. Not being Sheriff anymore was freeing. “So a brown kid?” 

“ _Jaime_ ,” she scolded, trying not to laugh. “I don’t want to send a deputy down there, but I told her I’d send someone. Can you go, please? I need to see something about wolves attacking a bus.” 

Jim howled with laughter this time. “There’s, like, eleven wolves in the whole state!” 

Michelle rolled her eyes at her husband, who was grinning goofily at her, 

“You tell that to the concerned ranchers of Roswell. So unless you want to check out the wolves at the bus stop…?” she said, dodging a kiss. 

“Alright, _alright_ , I’ll drive out to the ‘burbs. Maybe catch up with Jesse while I’m there...” 

…

Michael had gotten enough nasty looks in his life to know that he needed to not be seen. The smart thing to do would be to wait for dark and find somewhere to hole up, but he—couldn’t. That itch in his head was only getting harder and harder to ignore; with every passing _minute_ it got stronger and louder scratching around inside him. 

He was going crazy. He had already been crazy before, when he was angry, _so_ angry he made things happen and didn’t know why. Or did know why. He was...different; he had all these hazy memories of crawling, then a cave, then walking, and there were two others with him, but their faces were all fuzzy, and...he might have dreamed any of it, or all of it, except that it all felt as real as he did.

 _They_ were here. Somewhere. He was certain that was what was calling him. But they were in one of these big, nice houses—so far away from him he might as well have never left Albuquerque. 

Except there was no Mr. Graves in Roswell. And lots more empty space. He could find somewhere to hide...it was just that walking away from the direction of that _call_ felt like trying to step out of his own skin. If he hid somewhere until tomorrow, he could probably catch them before school, with no adults around to make it weird. 

But what was he going to do until then, when every fiber of him wouldn’t let him leave this yuppie suburban street?

“‘Scuse me, son,” a man’s voice said behind him. “Can I help you with anything?” 

Whirling around, Michael plunged his hand into his pocket where his knife was, clenching his fist around it even if he wasn’t stupid enough to pull it out here. 

“Who are you?” Michael demanded, way too loud, but his heart was pounding so hard he thought he might puke. He backed up several steps.

Jim took a step back himself, hands held up in surrender, heart in his throat. He recognized the kid immediately. He’d recognize this kid anywhere—had seen him plenty in newspaper clippings his wife pored over every time a case involving a kid crossed her desk, had seen him plenty in nightmares where the third Highway Kid’s removal from Roswell put him somehow on Jesse’s warpath.

Gently, he tried, “ I’m Jim, Jim Valenti. What’s your name, son?”

“My name is _none of your business!”_

This was a street, not the undercarriage of a bus; things would be way worse if he freaked out here. So he tried to breathe through it, and not send this guy flying through the air, or break any windows.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jim said, looking appropriately cowed by this display, even though it was like the roar of a baby lion. The boy looked ready to bolt or pass out. _This poor fucking kid_ , Jim thought, his heart aching while seeing the bruises made the whole nightscape shade slightly red around the edges. “I’m not going to hurt you, son, I’m here to help you. Ah. I thought—did you come all the way here from Albuquerque to see—?” He cut himself off, not sure where the line was in treating Michael Guerin like a normal kid, a normal case, versus treating him like a very frightened alien child looking for his family.

“I’m _not_ your son. Stop calling me that. I’m not _anyone’s_ son. Michael was just a reject name they would’ve given to any other reject kid that was there instead of me. What do you want from me? I’m not doing anything wrong.” 

Michael tried to straighten up his shoulders, to stop his voice from trembling. It didn’t really work. He _wasn’t_ doing anything wrong. He hadn’t even gone into anyone’s yard; he stayed on the sidewalk the whole time and didn’t make any noise. Until now.

“I know, I know. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not in trouble.” Jim crouched down, half ready to bolt after this kid if he did try to run, and half to be a less intimidating target. “I was just worried about you. You here alone? You look like you could use a coke. Something to drink?” 

Ah, yes, just the thing he told kids to watch out for every day: accepting food from strangers. “Or maybe I can help you look for whatever it is you’re out here to find.” 

Michael narrowed his eyes and craned his neck to look over Jim’s shoulder. “I’m not getting in your car, dude. I’m not _stupid._ I’m fine on my own.”

“I know you’re fine. That’s good. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still help you get a little past fine, does it?” 

Michael _was_ thirsty. Maybe he could at least get a drink. He hadn’t even looked for a water fountain, he just...hadn’t wanted to stop, or hadn’t been able to; he’d just let his body carry him along the bright line of compulsion...here. 

“Who are you, anyway? Cop? Kid snatcher?” Michael demanded, clenching his fist even tighter around his knife.

“My wife is a cop, but she’s cool. I work for Child Services here in sleepy little Roswell,” Jim said, worried he’d lose him if he didn’t speak quickly: “Were you trying to find your siblings, maybe?” 

“If you work for _child services,”_ Michael sneered, “You know I don’t _have_ any siblings. At least not anymore. And I’m not going back to Mr. Graves, so if that’s why you’re really here then _fuck off._ ”

The thought sent the chill panic in Michael’s chest into overdrive. He hadn’t come all this way for nothing. Maybe the other two, the ones calling him, maybe they were his siblings. But if that was true, maybe they could do weird things too, and if this guy found out about _Michael_ , he might find out about them too. They were adopted, wanted. He hadn’t come all this way to ruin their lives, either.

“Easy, easy,” Jim said. “I’m definitely not sending you anywhere you don’t want to go.” 

It was getting harder and harder for Michael to keep a lid on his control, and when one of the garbage bins on the corner started rattling, he almost let out a whimper of fear for what he was about to do, and what might get done to him for it.

“Look, ah, you don’t have to come with me, or talk to me, even, but let me give you some water, okay, Michael? I think I may have some snacks in my truck. All sealed, I promise.” 

Jim backed away slowly, trying to smile, though it probably came across a little sad. 

Michael advanced as Jim retreated, suspicion still radiating off of him in waves. He didn’t let go of his knife, either. “I’ll let you give me stuff if you tell me how you _really_ know me. And why you even care. Don’t say it’s because you work for Child Services. You don’t act very much like one of them.”

"Sorry, sorry, right," Jim said, because of course he wasn't remotely following the book at all. "It’s kind of a long story, Michael, and I don’t know how much of it you know. My truck's over here…"

He didn't dare turn his back on the kid, for the same reasons you didn't turn your back on a mountain lion. If he could see the kid, he wouldn't bolt, and wouldn't knife him in the back or whatever. So he turned sort of sideways, motioning down the street. “I know your name because you're kinda famous in, ah, my circles. I'm guessing the Albuquerque family isn't working out for you? We can definitely try a different placement..." 

Jim reached the truck, putting the seat forward to grab a few water bottles from a pack of them. "Can I throw these to you or do you want to come over here?"

Michael stared at Jim for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder, back at the house that was calling to him. He didn’t want to leave it. Couldn’t. But..someone on this nice street probably called this guy, and if Michael lingered any longer they might call the cops next. He looked back at Jim. There was no reason to trust that he wouldn’t try and take Michael away, even take him back to Mr. Graves—but Michael already got away once. He got himself all the way here. Maybe he could take this guy on too.

He took his sweaty hand off his knife and shuffled a few steps forward. He took the water bottle when it was held out to him, and gulped down a few grateful mouthfuls. It was a little warm from being in Valenti’s car all day but way better than the gross hot water he found in the bus.

Thank God, Jim thought, as the kid clearly needed the water. "Look, why don't you let me buy you a hamburger, or something, and we can talk, no strings—"

"Oh, Sheriff Valenti," said a voice Jim immediately recognized as Ann Evans, out walking her dog. 

"Still not Sheriff anymore, Mrs. Evans," Jim replied, wincing as he turned around to smile at her. "But the Sheriff did ask me to look into the, ah, disturbance you phoned in?"

He gestured towards Michael so she could _see_ how ridiculous she had been being 'concerned' about a _child_ , but when he looked again, the boy was gone. 

_Damn it._

"Well did you find him? You know we've been seeing graffiti on the mail boxes, recently, and Michelle just hasn't been as responsive to—"

"You mean _Sheriff Valenti_?" Jim corrected automatically. He sighed, though he figured he'd lost his window with the kid now. "I'll pass that along, and I'll keep an eye out." 

Bidding Ann Evans goodbye, he climbed into his truck and drove away at a crawl, searching the hedges and side yards for any sign of a curly-haired little boy, but there was no trace of him. Jim searched and searched, already hatching frantic plans for his care, knowing he had to find him—there was no other choice. Find him before anything happened.

Before someone else did.


	2. Chapter 2

Night fell faster and faster, and Michael wandered. The sweat from earlier had dried on his clothes and skin; he felt gross and grimy, and tired, and yeah, a little scared about what would happen to him now. If he slept out in the desert, would he be safe? Did coyotes eat kids? 

But it was better coyotes than cops, so Michael headed out of town. He tried to stay off the road so he wouldn’t be noticed again, but there wasn’t exactly a whole lot of cover. 

He’d reached the edge of the town proper when he saw the sign—a colorful flyer blown up big and planted on the side of the road that read “RANCHERO NIGHT! Hosted by the Wild Pony. Live music — Free food — All are welcome!”

The sign had an address too, so Michael read it over to memorize it, and struck out in that direction

When he found the bar, the parking lot was packed, and he almost turned around and left. Except that he couldn’t turn down free food, so he hovered on the edges of the light spilling out of the front door, trying to see inside, just in case…

Just in case what? Mr. Graves was at this random bar and it was a trap? That Valenti guy was stalking him? 

He didn’t see any other kids inside, but there wasn’t a bouncer either, and the sign said all were welcome, so. If whoever ran this place was a liar, Michael would deal with it when they threw him out. 

Taking a deep breath, he strode inside. The place was crowded, but not crushing, and the music wasn’t too loud either, and Michael took a deep breath, chest loosening slightly. People were dancing, or in clumps around tables chatting, or getting food from a buffet being run by a nice-looking man wearing alien antenna. There was no one here as young as him, but a few people who looked like high schoolers, so at least if Michael got in trouble he wouldn’t be the only one. He stuck to the edge of the room anyway, but he crept closer to the buffet table. He would just eat and go. That was all.

A touch on his shoulder startled Michael, but when he wheeled around it was a smiling girl his own age, with dark skin and her hair in two braids. Her dress had just about every color of the rainbow in it. 

"Hi, and welcome!" she said, like this was rehearsed, but her smile seemed genuine. "I just saw you come in. Can I stamp your hand? It's just so you can come and go if you want, and get as much food as you want." 

She brandished a self-inking stamp and an even brighter smile. "My name's Maria!"

Michael drew back on instinct, but forced himself to relax and hold out his hand. “Um. Hi. I’m…” he hesitated for a second, not sure if he should give his real name, or...oh, whatever. “I’m Michael. I didn’t know I needed a stamp. Sorry.”

“That’s okay! My mom just wants a head count or something. See—” she drew closer, looking down at the device in her hand, “I stamp you and the little clicker goes up. Neat, huh? You’re gonna love the food, Mr. Ortecho is cooking. That’s Rosa’s dad. She’s my best friend. Why don’t you get a plate? If you want to sit with us, we’ve got a Kids Only table in the back.”

“Am I...allowed? In the back?” Michael asked. “I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. I was just gonna eat and go. Because the sign said free food.”

“Yeah! Liz—she’s Rosa’s sister—got beer spilled on her last time and cried the whole night, so we’re just hanging out away from all the adults. It’s right through those doors,” she said, pointing. Then she stopped, and gave Michael another look. He was slight, and sort of dirty and disheveled, and maybe looked a year younger than her, or else malnourished. Her mama definitely taught her her manners, so she didn’t say anything about the dirt that might have been bruises, but she was sort of instinctively worried about this kid. “Or I could go with you! I haven’t gotten my plate yet, either, actually.” 

“Okay.”

Michael followed her to the buffet, trailing in her wake as she cut through the crowd like it was nothing. Maybe it was, to her. When they reached Mr. Ortecho, he greeted them both warmly, but Michael just stared at his fraying shoes while Maria did the talking for them both.

He was so tired. What time was it, even? How long did Ranchero Night last—how long would it be before he had to leave? He felt bad that he was kind of tuning Maria out as all these questions flew around his head, but he couldn’t figure out how to respond to anything as he followed her through the door behind the bar.

“There you are! I thought you got lost!” said a girl who was loud and had a loud personality and looked like she might be older than him, possibly the oldest one there. “Who’s this? Is he cool?”

The other girl, smaller and slighter, with huge brown eyes, smiled shyly at him, like she was trying to make up for her sister’s big personality by having a small one. They were, obviously, sisters. 

“This is Michael, he just arrived,” Maria said, setting her plate down on the plastic card table but not sitting down right away. “Michael, this is Rosa and Liz. What do you want to drink? Mom lets me work the soda gun if I’m careful.” 

“Just water is fine.” Michael walked around the table to take the last seat, glad he wouldn’t be sitting with his back to the door. He took a bite of food right away, hoping it would keep him from having to talk—but the food was _so good_ he couldn’t help from devouring it, and Liz and Rosa laughed.

“Oh yeah, our dad is the best cook _ever,_ ” Rosa said smugly. “No one’s better than him. Not even Mama DeLuca, that’s why she has him bring food for Ranchero Night. Because he’s the best.”

"Papi is the best," Liz agreed. "He always helps people. Where do you go to school, Michael? I—"

"Oh my God, Liz, no one wants to talk about school except you," Maria said, returning holding three cups: one of water for Michael, one for her, and another of cola. "Here I brought you a coke, too, just in case, Michael. Sometimes the chile is a _little_ spicy."

“I like school,” Michael offered. He couldn’t quite muster up a smile for Liz when he was fighting to keep his eyes open, but still. “Science is my favorite class, but I also like music. Your dad actually kind of reminds me of my old music teacher. But I just got here from Albuquerque. I haven’t started school here yet…”

"Well I go to Monterrey," Liz said, warming up to him immediately for some reason. "Rosa goes to Mesa Middle School. What grade are you in? I love Science, too! I'm in Ms. Batson's 5th grade class and she likes science a lot. We're always doing fun things."

“I’m in fifth grade too.” But then he thought about how he had no idea if he was going to get to go to school anymore, or how he might get into school in Roswell, or if any of his teachers at his old school would even notice he was gone, and he didn’t really want to talk about it anymore, so he bent his head and went back to eating.

Which was okay, because the girls didn't seem to mind the silence, filling it just fine without him. Liz went back with him to get another plate, but decided she wanted her Papi, and stayed with him, clinging to his apron-strings and indicating she was tired in quiet Spanish that Michael only half understood. Something about where her mom was, he guessed. 

Michael lingered, unsure if he should wait for Liz or go back to Rosa and Maria without her. Mr. Ortecho spoke so softly to Liz, and Michael didn’t know if he wanted to stick around or run from it.

"Now why don't you take your friend and sit quietly by the coolers and things? We'll go home in a little while," Mr. Ortecho said, switching to English and smiling at Michael. "You have enough to eat there, Miguel?" he asked with a kind smile and a wink, handing him and Liz each an ice cold guava juice can from a secret stash.

Liz smiled tired and rubbed her eyes, either like she was sleepy or trying to hide evidence that she had been crying. 

"We can sit over here," she said, pointing to the booth that was covered in jackets, plastic servingware, and dishes. "I told him it's a school night and I don't want to be sleepy tomorrow. But these things can go kinda late."

“It’s okay if you want to take a nap,” Michael said. “I’ll sit here and make sure no one messes with you. Or I can go get Rosa or Maria, if that would be better.” 

"No, you can stay," Liz said with a smile. "You're pretty quiet." 

It sounded pretty good to Michael to just be able to sit and watch the crowd. The crowd hadn’t thinned out at all—if anything, more people had shown up—but everyone was still talking and laughing or dancing; no one had gotten mad and started hitting anyone else yet. And this corner was quiet enough.

"Or go hang out with the others if you like. I don't mind being called the baby if it means I get to sleep," she continued matter-of-factly. Liz piled up jackets as a pillow and pulled one over her, and then thought better of it and gave some to Michael, too. One looked like it was hers. "If you want to sleep until your people come get you."

“Um. Okay,” Michael said.

And that was all. Liz curled up and dozed off quickly. Michael wrapped his arms around his knees and stared at the door. If he slipped out now, hopefully Liz would just think someone had come to get him. _Yeah, if only._

But his eyelids were so heavy, and the pile of coats wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was the most comfortable thing he’d had all day. He dozed off without meaning to.

...

Jim came in the back door, looking warily around. 

“If you’re trying to catch us in the act of something, it’s no good, Mr. Valenti. We see you!” Rosa said, teasing the former Sheriff with a bright smile. 

“Hey, girls,” he said quietly. “Uh. Is your mama here, Maria? She called me: can you go get her for me?” 

Maria and Rosa looked at each other. Both of their minds jumped immediately to the boy with the bruises, knowing what Mr. Valenti’s job was. They didn’t want to rat Michael out, but maybe Mr. Valenti could help him.

“What for?” Maria demanded, hands on her hips. 

“That may be none of your business, little miss,” Jim said, mirroring her posture. 

Rosa was no snitch, even if Mr. Valenti was nice. She glanced at Maria, then said sweetly, “I don’t know if Mimi’s here right now. She might’ve gone out.”

Maria bit her lip and looked away from Rosa. She didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, but if her mom had called Mr. Valenti, then it must be okay, right?

“Okay, let’s go get Mom, Rosa,” she said. Rosa made a scandalized noise as Maria grabbed her hand and pulled her away, but Maria just shrugged and said, “It’s okay! Mama will know what to do!”

Mimi did know what to do, welcoming the girls into her arms as they rushed her urgently to tell her of the new arrival. 

"Oh, good, he's here to help," she assured them, kissing Maria’s hair. "Can you and Rosa keep an eye on Liz and Michael over there while I talk to him?"

Rosa got a distinctly mischievous glint in her eye when she saw the sleeping Liz, but luckily Maria was there to keep her from doing anything to wake her up and get in trouble with her dad. Also, Papi was right there, watching over them. 

Michael was almost as tall as Maria, but sleeping he looked tiny. Almost as small as Liz, and Liz was short—something her sister never let her forget. Maria wondered what Mr. Valenti and her mom were talking about and what it meant for Michael, and she hoped everything would be okay.

“Mimi!” Jim whispered as she joined him in the back room of the bar. She could hardly believe this man had been the Sheriff just a year ago, after that falling out with Jesse Manes ended up discrediting him. He was too sweet to be a good Sheriff, quite honestly. 

He made much more of a difference in his current role, she thought. Protecting children, and trying to stop whatever Manes was doing to the aliens in his “care.” 

“Jim, I think that little boy out there—” 

“I know,” Jim said, voice hushed. “He’s one of _them_ , I’m sure of it. One of the three. I don’t think the situation in Albuquerque is good; something needs to be done before something happens to bring him to Jesse’s attention, but he ran away from me once already. Where is he?”

“Last I saw him he was sleeping in the coat pile with little Liz Ortecho. Arturo had an eye on them.”

Looking at Jim Valenti’s serious face, Mimi was unsure. They had been allies for years now, united against the threat Jesse Manes posed, dedicated to undermining him at every turn and protecting what they knew and he didn’t—the Evans twins, and any other living survivors of the ‘47 crash. But as dedicated as Mimi was to this cause, sometimes it weighed heavy on her. Both the enormity of what they were trying to protect the alien children from as well as the danger she was putting herself, and by extension Maria, into. 

“What are you planning, Jimmy?”

Jim winced. “Something legally wrong but ethically right?” 

He looked at her to see her reaction, but Mimi had always been kind of a hippie, so this probably sounded great to her. “I mean, I can—and will—get Graves out of fostering _pronto_. I don’t want to drag that kid through a hearing. The system hasn’t been good to him, he shouldn’t have to do the work to make it better. And I want to keep him in Roswell, with his...ah, keep them together.” 

“Jimmy Valenti, if I cared about the law over ethics, I wouldn’t host these nights, and I would have talked to you more while you were being Sheriff. Just tell me what I need to do.”

He rubbed his face tiredly. “You said Arturo’s out there?” 

Kids liked Arturo. 

“Yes, but it’s past 9, so he’ll be taking Liz and Rosa home soon.” Mimi walked to the door and peered out into the bar. “Beto hasn’t gotten here to relieve him yet, so you should still have at least ten minutes. Are you going to…” she trailed off and swallowed at the look on his face. “What are we going to tell him?”

“Arturo? We’re gonna tell him the truth. Michael needs somewhere to go, and Arturo is the most generous man I know. And...it won’t be an official transfer, not with Arturo’s citizenship status...and the safest place for the kid is somewhere out of the system. Michael Graves disappeared at the bus stop and was never seen again. Michael Guerin is the son of family friends who needs someone to take care of him.” Jim tried, sounding it out in front of Mimi just in case he was as crazy as he sounded in his own head. 

“ _Jim._ ” Mimi said, whipping around to glare at him. “I hope you mean you’re going to tell him the _truth._ I know it’s important to keep the secret, but this is an enormous ask we’re making. Arturo has a lot on his plate as it is parenting those two girls and taking care of Helena when she’s around, and you want to give him a kid who might start blowing things up with his brain any day. How much help are you prepared to give him? Because your current record is spotty as hell as it is.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Jim said, in his defense, but a little bit of grumping at being called out was all he really had room for, and that was fair. “I do mean the whole truth. I—you know I’d tell him about Rosa, too, but that’s not just _my_ secret.” 

He gave her a pleading look. He needed her backing on this one. “And—and it’s just—it’ll give me time to get new paperwork going for another Michael. Smooth out the wrinkles. If the situation doesn’t work out, we’ll...figure something else out.” 

Mimi’s mouth pressed into a hard line, but it was impossible to maintain her anger in the face of what they were dealing with: a lost kid with no one in the entire world to defend him but them. “Alright. Alright. Let’s go get him and hope we’ve caught him in a credible mood. At least Michael has already met the kids.”

“Has he? And no one got stabbed?” Jim wondered pleasantly.


	3. Chapter 3

“Arturo, how are you doing?” Jim asked in Spanish as he clapped Arturo on the back. He knew Arturo was a nice guy, but every time he tried to be friends with him he just felt guilty. “The food looks great, anything left for me?” 

Mimi gave Rosa and Maria tokens for the jukebox, which would distract them and keep the background noise loud.

“Jim, of course, there’s enough to go around."

Arturo was always pleasant. He believed in it firmly—in the example he wanted to set, in the spreading of graciousness. He knew things about Jim Valenti that stretched that to its limits sometimes, but ultimately, he did all any man could. Focused on his blessings and did not torture himself trying to change what could not be changed or undo what had been done. 

But Jim was looking at him with an earnestness in his face that only came right before a favor, so Arturo sighed.

“How can I help you? It’s getting late, and I need to get my girls in bed soon.”

“Right, Right,” Jim said hastily. “I don’t want to keep you, I know, and I wouldn’t, except, oh, God, this is important. Can we talk? In private?” 

“You’re on your feet too much, Arturo,” Mimi said, her Spanish a little more broken, though she could follow along. 

Arturo sighed but nodded, and Mimi led them to a booth in the back, away from the crowds where she knew she could speak with people and not be overheard. 

“So you met Michael, I see,” Jim said. That was the most important part of this, the kid. 

“He seems like a good kid. Liz likes him already. But I saw the bruises—anyone who could do that to a child is a monster.” Only respect for Mimi’s place of work kept Arturo from spitting on the floor. “Why do you ask about him?”

“I need—” Jim began, couldn’t believe he was asking this, but pressed on. “He ran away from his foster parents in Albuquerque. He has nowhere to go that I trust. I’m trying to get half the group homes in the county shut down, they’re so bad, Arturo. I need—I need you to help me keep him out of the system.” 

As realization began to dawn on Arturo’s face, Jim continued even faster, so fast Mimi lost half of what they were saying: “I know it’s last minute, if you need—I could take him home with me for one night if you need to do—anything—but honestly the less Michelle knows the better, just from a conflict of interest standpoint, I could come back with you and help set up a bed, hell, I think we’ve got an extra bed in my garage.” 

“Jim…” Arturo tried to interrupt, but Jim was on a roll, here:

“It doesn’t need to be permanent, you know, just give me time and I’ll work something out. But I’ll help out, and I’ll get the paperwork going to get you a check every month, though we might want it to come through me and I’ll give you cash. We’ll work it out. I wouldn’t ask you to take on another mouth to feed if I wasn’t prepared to help.” 

“Jim,” Mimi cut in, and she came to sit beside him and took Arturo’s hands. “Arturo. We know this is an impossible thing to ask of you. But the boy is...special.” She took a deep breath. “He isn’t a danger, but if he’s left all alone in the world, he might be someday. Either that or he will be dead.”

“Special?” Arturo asked, glancing at Jim to make sure that was what she meant, _especial_ . Jim shrugged and added _extraordinario_. 

Mimi took another breath, and then carried on.

“I know you are a man of faith, Arturo, and I am asking you to find the strength for even more belief.”

Arturo sat back, looking between Mimi and Jim’s faces, and he squeezed Mimi’s hands. “What do you mean?”

“What would you say if I told you we were not alone in the universe?”

“Of course we are not,” Arturo said with a soft smile. 

“I mean. That there is life beyond this planet,” Mimi said, forgetting and switching back to English briefly. 

His first instinct was to laugh, but neither Jim nor Mimi had a shred of humor on their faces. “What are you saying?” he asked, “That that little boy is an _alien?”_

What reason would these two people—not friends of his, perhaps, in Jim’s case, but people he knew to be good and honest—have to lie to him about something so outlandish? But still, it beggared belief; Arturo shook his head like it would clear his thoughts away. 

Mimi nodded solemnly. “A survivor from the ‘47 crash, somehow kept in stasis until a few years ago. Do you remember those three kids that a trucker picked up just outside of town?”

Arturo glanced sharply at the sleeping boy. “My God.”

“And two of them got adopted…”

“They split them up?” Arturo interrupted. It was a fear he always had for his own girls, should the worst come to pass, so it hit him right in the chest.

Jim saw Arturo’s eyes light up, with righteous indignation, with holy fire, with protective instincts and love. 

“I’ll help you, I swear. You’re not the only man who can fix this, but you’re the best man. You always are.” Jim looked at him sadly, holding Arturo’s gaze, before he let out his breath in a laugh: “Kid’s also kind of a little shit.” 

Arturo sighed heavily. “Many children are,” he said. “When you are very small, the world is very big—bigger for some than for others. What can a child do but try and fight it any way they know how?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, searching for peace so he could make this decision. 

_God, guide me on this path. Give me strength_ , he prayed, and then he realized he was already running through his head if he had the supplies to set up a bed for the boy at home, how he would go about getting clothes and other necessities for him.

“I can’t make you any promises,” Arturo warned. “It breaks my heart to say about any child, but if this endangers my girls in any way, I have to put them first."

"Of course," Mimi said. "And Jim says he has supplies for you."

"And you both have to help me know what to say when people ask questions—this is an enormous secret, and I’m not a very good liar.”

"He's a runaway you took in, or the kid of a family friend," Jim said. "No lie in it. He knows to keep his _specialness_ secret, so there's nothing much to do there. His name is Michael. I can get paperwork with a name change for him, if you and he want… I know you always wanted a son." 

Arturo raised an eyebrow. “You might take caution with what you think you know about me, Jim Valenti.”

Mimi snorted.

Jim held his gaze, soaking that in. He deserved that. "That's fair."

“Anyway, the boy’s name should be his choice. We’ll ask him before making that decision.” He stood. “Are we done here? I need to collect my children.”

"Yeah."

 _Aliens._ Arturo didn’t know when he would believe it or if he ever would; if Mimi and Jim would reveal that this was all some grand joke, or if God would give him a sign, some indication of the greater plan. But in the meantime, there was a child in need. What kind of man would Arturo be if he didn’t do everything in his power to help the boy?

"Uhh, maybe I shouldn't be here when he wakes up," Jim suggested, standing up, and switching back to English. "He was scared of me before, which makes sense for all he knows about CPS. Uh, I'll go get some things and bring them to the Crashdown?"

"I'll leave some of the washing up for you to do," Arturo teased—or at least Jim guessed he was joking. 

Jim left out the back door, and Mimi and Arturo went back out to the front. Beto had arrived and taken over serving the food, and Arturo nodded at him gratefully. The children were still clustered around the coat pile, Maria and Rosa handing them out to the few people who were leaving. Arturo’s heart swelled when he saw Rosa tug one of the jackets up to cover Liz better.

“Mama!” Maria shouted as they approached, running to give Mimi a hug. When Mimi bent down to give it to her, Maria whispered, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s going to be just fine, baby,” Mimi replied. 

Rosa wasn’t really the running-and-hugging type (at least not where anyone could see her), but the smile she had for her dad was enough for him. He bent to stroke her head.

“Ready to go home?” He asked in Spanish, and she nodded, then he continued. “How would you feel if Michael came home with us for a little while? He doesn’t have anywhere to live in Roswell right now, and I thought we would open our home to him. Yeah?”

Rosa bit her lip. “Am I gonna have to share a room with him _too?”_

And Arturo just laughed, tears almost coming to his eyes, he loved this little girl so much. Of _course_ that was all his Rosa cared about. 

“No, mija. I’ll make a little bed for him in my room for now; I’ll share just like you. It will take a little more sharing from all of us, but that includes things like chores, too. We’ll all get along, you’ll see.”

“Okay,” Rosa said, nodding like she was already calculating which chores she could foist on this newcomer. It wasn’t as though she had Gameboys to worry about sharing or anything. “As long as he doesn’t steal my markers. I’ll punch him.” 

“You will do no such thing, young lady.” Arturo straightened up and looked down at the sleeping kids. If what Jim said was true—and going by the bruises on Michael’s face it was—waking the boy up might be difficult. He wasn’t sleeping easy; one fist was clenched in the jacket, the other under his head. He looked furious in sleep, and fragile. Arturo looked toward Mimi for help, and she murmured something to Maria and came over to him.

They looked at each other and Mimi shrugged after a moment, bent over, and laid a gentle hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Michael, honey, wake up,” she said softly.

And that was enough. The boy startled awake, sitting up so fast he nearly headbutted Mimi, throwing the coat off himself and leaping to his feet. He shoved his hand in his pocket so quickly Arturo took a step back and held his hands up; he didn’t know if the boy had a weapon, but he wouldn’t take that chance.

“Michael?” Maria asked softly, looking a little worried. 

Michael looked at her, a familiar face if only just, and a little of the piano-wire tension went out of him, shoulders dropping minutely. Then he looked up warily at Mimi and Arturo, eyes flicking between their faces. “Liz was sleeping under the coats too,” he said. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, you didn’t, sweetheart,” Mimi said. “We just thought you might like to be a little more comfortable. How would you feel about staying the night with Mr. Ortecho and the girls?”

“What do you mean?”

“Unless you have somewhere else you would rather go,” Arturo said, trying to smile. “But it’s getting late, and, you know, I was going to make an extra-huge batch of churro pancakes tomorrow morning that we might need help eating…” 

Liz sat up, nosferatu-style, still half-asleep but summoned to wakefulness by the promise of pancakes. “Pancakes? But Papi, tomorrow is a school day.” 

“We’ll have to get up extra-early, then,” Arturo suggested. 

However, Liz, who hated being tired, immediately started crying at this suggestion. 

Rosa rolled her eyes but collected her crying sister in her arms. She hoisted her up and started carrying her outside to the car. “Come on, you big baby, you’re embarrassing yourself in front of your new fake brother.” 

Michael’s mouth turned down in a heartbreaking frown as he watched them go. “You don’t have to make pancakes. I don’t need them. It’s okay.” Then he shook his head and his frown got deeper, and he said, “I don’t need you to take me home, either. Thanks. I’m fine.”

“Of course you are fine,” Arturo said, putting his own coat around Michael’s shoulders. “But you would be better coming home with us, right?” 

Michael clutched Arturo’s coat around himself and tried not to get attached to how warm it was. His lower lip wobbled, so he bit down on it until it stopped.

“Why would you want me? You don’t even know me.”

Arturo crouched down so he was at eye level. “I think I know enough. Let’s go. _Vamonos_.” 

Mimi and Maria, who were standing behind Arturo, nodded encouragingly. 

After another long, hesitating moment, Michael shrunk further back into Arturo’s jacket and shuffled a little bit closer to him, nodding.

It would be okay. He’d run once; he could do it again. At least this way he could stay in Roswell and find what had been calling him so powerfully.

At least this way he might find some answers.

...

Arturo carried Liz up the stairs with Rosa by his side, checking over his shoulder every step of the way to make sure Michael was still there. And he was, trailing after them, still maintaining a death grip on Arturo’s coat, his every step an exhausted shuffle. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, he was wobbling on his feet.

Rosa brushed past her dad to get to the bathroom and brush her teeth, and Arturo went to lay Liz in bed, deciding it was okay for one night if he didn’t wake her up to make her do the same. Ranchero Nights tended to run late even without _extraordinary_ circumstances. For the hundredth time, Arturo wished he could afford a babysitter for the girls, but that was an old, worn stick to beat himself with.

Michael lingered on the landing, still there when Arturo came out of the girls’ bedroom.

“Come now, Michael,” he said, taking the spare blankets from the closet and leading the way into his own room.

The door rang downstairs, and Arturo left Michael briefly to go get it, and he came up carrying a cot and a bag. Jim had decided not to come up, in case his presence upset Michael, but he promised to be by in the morning, even offering to take the girls to school. (“I wasn’t kidding about the dishes downstairs, you know,” Arturo told him, and Jim sighed and actually got to work. He did them at home, too, so at least he was good at it.) 

When Arturo returned, carrying a cot, and a pillowcase full of stuff, Michael was visibly swaying, obviously exhausted but holding himself up through sheer force of will. 

“Hey, Michael, watch out, _hijo_. Look at the things Mr. Valenti brought for you.” 

Michael moved out of the way as Arturo set the cot up. Ah, the cops had found him, he realized, though he was too tired to do anything about it. The pillowcase smelled clean, and inside it was a fairly standard CPS special: toothbrush, toothpaste, a blanket, a sheet, a tiny pillow, crayons and a coloring book, a water bottle, a granola bar. 

Michael looked at the granola bar for long minutes, only just now realizing that he was not only not hungry, but was actually kind of full. He could save the granola bar.

“ _Dalo aqui,_ ” Mr. Ortecho said, for what sounded like the second or third time, and Michael flinched and clutched at the collection, but he was pointing at the blankets and bedding. “Give it here, let’s make your bed up.” 

Rosa appeared in the doorway. “You need anything, Papi?” 

“Only for you to come here, so I can give you a kiss goodnight,” Arturo said, pulling his daughter in and pecking her on the forehead. “Michael and I will be going to bed shortly too, hm? Sweet dreams, Rosa.”

“Goodnight, Papi,” she chorused and left the room with a backwards glance and an awkward wave for Michael.

Michael waved back just as awkwardly. 

“If the girls are done, why don’t you go brush your teeth and wash your face?” Arturo invited, fishing in the pillowcase to find a set of Spider-man pajamas, T-shirt and long pants, and a new pack of underwear—clearly Jim had stopped by Walmart on his way, because he didn’t think these came standard. He handed them to Michael and walked him to the bathroom. “And you can change into your _pijama_.” 

He added a fresh towel and facecloth to the pile as they walked to the bathroom, only to find that Rosa had already set out a fresh bundle on the toilet, as well as several unisex band T-shirts of her own. “Ah, there we go, Rosa’s already taking care of you, see? That means she likes you, even if she doesn’t always talk like it. Do you need any help, Miguel? Michael?” He was tired, too. 

Michael shook his head wordlessly, grabbing one of the t-shirts and worrying the fabric between his fingers. He seemed dazed, mostly from exhaustion, but in general, too, and though he was concerned, Arturo let it go. The boy had had a big day, after all.

He waited outside the bathroom door for Michael to clean up and change, half in case something strange happened when you looked away from an alien, half in case he fell and hit his head, he was so tired. When the door opened, Michael just stood there for a minute, eyes closed, and then began to walk. Arturo chanced a tousle of his hair, and got no reaction, the poor thing already asleep on his feet. But hopefully he would remember fondness in that simple touch anyway, and it would accompany him to pleasant dreams.

And when Arturo finally talked with Jim and let him out and locked up after him, got himself ready for bed, and entered his bedroom he now shared with a ten-year-old, apparently, he tucked Michael in before laying himself down to sleep, wondering if the boy had ever been tucked into bed in his entire life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw this chapter for food insecurity, discussion of past child abuse

The next morning was a whirlwind of activity and a lot of shouting in Spanish. 

No one got up as early as they planned, but Arturo was determined to keep his promise to his children about the churro pancakes, Liz was excited to go to school but also excited to tell Michael everything—about the diner, about school, about her friends—and these things did not mix well, and Rosa spent far too long in the bathroom on makeup Arturo didn’t even know how she got. 

(Arturo was tragically, painfully glad Helena wasn’t here in all this.) 

And in the middle of the whirlwind, Michael sat quiet and tense and pale with stress, clutching his ratty old backpack, and Arturo had to suppress every urge to fret over him in favor of getting the girls out the door. It would take a few days before Jim could get Michael registered for school, and Arturo felt slightly terrible for being so grateful Jim would soon be by to take him for the day. A diner kitchen or stuck in a tiny, mostly-windowless upstairs apartment was no place for a frightened child, after all.

Half an hour before he had to get into the kitchen with the rest of his staff, Arturo knelt to be at eye level with Michael and said, “Mr. Valenti is going to show you around town, okay? He told me that he thinks he scared you yesterday—is there anything you want to talk about before he gets here?”

Michael just shook his head. 

Arturo raised one eyebrow, smiling a little. “Ah. Worried about having sisters, eh? I tell you they are just as terrifying as they seem. That is what makes us into men.” 

He gave Michael a small wink, and Michael relaxed a fraction. 

“Have you had enough to eat?” 

After a split second, Michael nodded. If only there was some way he could take a pancake or two and squirrel them away for later...he still had all the food in his backpack as well as last night’s granola bar, but still. But Mr. Ortecho didn’t need to know that. Michael also wasn’t sure if he should thank Mr. Ortecho for breakfast. He didn’t want to look pathetic, but he didn’t want to be rude, either. Between the bed and the pancakes, though, he already felt both of those things. 

“Words help, you know,” Rosa said, coming past him and tapping him on the head. “Our dad speaks English.” 

“Now Rosa, you be nice!” Mr. Ortecho said, waving a spatula at her. 

“She doesn’t mean it,” Liz said, setting a stack of books in front of Michael. “I finished those already, so you can read them if you want today! I’d be _freaking out_ about getting behind in school if I was in your place.” 

“You kidding? He’s got it good. Wait til you get to middle school, you’ll change your tune. Hey, Mr. Valenti’s here!” 

Michael stared at the spines of Liz’s books. He hadn’t read any of them before, which was exciting, but none of them were about science or about space, which was disappointing. He wouldn’t blame her if she was keeping all the best ones for herself.

The bell over the door chimed, and Mr. Valenti strode in. Michael tensed immediately, remembering the day before. He wasn’t as tired right now, or as sweaty or thirsty, but that didn’t make him feel that much better.

“What are you gonna make me do today?” He asked warily, jumping down from the bar stool with Liz’s books in his arms.

“Did I make you do something yesterday?” Jim asked, teasing, glancing up at Arturo and then back down at Michael. “For starters I thought we might take the girls to school, and then you and I can have a little chat.” 

Michael grumbled, wishing devoutly for a good comeback like only a ten year old can. He walked over to Mr. Ortecho and the girls and stood pointedly on the _other_ side of them from Mr. Valenti. 

Arturo’s smile was priceless. “Everyone have a good day,” he said, and picked up a broom.

They dropped Rosa off first, since she had to be in school earlier. The whole time they walked, Michael paid close attention to how the sisters behaved around Mr. Valenti. Mostly they ignored him, bickering about whose turn it was to clean the bathroom, and Mr. Valenti just walked a little ways behind the children, hands in his pockets.

But the closer they got to Liz’s school, the more restless Michael became. It felt the same as it had yesterday—a call that couldn’t be ignored, that took over every single sense he had. He kept speeding up without realizing it, snapping out of it and circling back, head on a swivel like Mr. Valenti or Liz might either disappear or attack him at any time. 

There was something, _someone,_ in that school. He needed them, and it made him want to scream or throw something. With his _brain._

“Hey,” Liz said, touching his arm. “Are you okay?” 

Michael flinched away from her on instinct and nodded.

“It’s just my friend Alex, and you already met Maria. Oh, and that one’s Max Evans, and his sister, Isobel. Maybe you’ll get to meet them tomorrow. Mr. Valenti, will he come to my school, maybe?” 

"Yes, hopefully!"

The bell rang then, sending Liz tearing off with a cry and a wave, and in the shuffle the Evans kids were gone. 

“Michael?” Jim asked, tapping his shoulder once. “You okay?” 

“Don’t touch me!” Michael snapped. “I need to…” He started after the group of kids without even thinking, even though he _knew_ he didn’t belong here. 

It was _them._ He felt them—did they not feel him? Why were they walking away? _Why?_

“Why don’t we head to my office and I can tell you a bit about them?” Jim said quietly, keeping still in an attempt to look nonthreatening. “About Max and Isobel. I don’t want to separate you from your family, Michael. I want to bring you back together.” 

Michael wanted to cry, unable to decide, but then the other two disappeared inside the building and made the choice for him, and he wanted to cry even more.

But he kept his voice emotionless when he said, “Why would I want to know about them. They probably don’t even remember me.”

“That look they gave you said otherwise. I think they’ll want to meet you. But after school, maybe. After we talk.”

Michael balled up his fists, his eyes welled with tears, and he wanted to either hit Mr. Valenti or bolt. And what was worse—pebbles on the ground around him began to rattle menacingly as his anger built and built.

“Ah,” Jim tried, grasping at straws, “do you want to see part of a cool spaceship I found?” 

Michael’s head whipped up to him in shock, face lighting up like a child’s for the first time Jim had seen.

“Spaceship?” He asked, voice full of wonder, but then he clamped down on it again. “Don’t try and trick me with some stupid model. I’m not an idiot. If it’s not _real_ then it doesn’t matter.”

“Well, we might have to decide for ourselves when we get there,” Jim said, with a little smile. “You want to check it out?” 

Michael nodded. 

The drive wasn’t far, but it seemed to take forever to Michael. It was to a cabin in the woods he took them, which was good, probably, because Michael liked his odds if this creep tried anything. 

Still...a spaceship? That was...cool, right? Maybe this guy was cool. 

Jim, perhaps wisely, didn’t speak until they had arrived.

“This is my cabin. Mostly I take my son and his friends out camping in the back yard...and there’s good fishing part of the year…” Jim unlocked the door and dug out a trunk from under a couch. He looked up at Michael. “Now, do you think you’re ready for this?” 

Michael scoffed. A spaceship that fit inside a little box like this? Must be a pretty dumb spaceship—or a _model,_ which Michael was fully prepared to smash with his brain. He hated being treated like a little kid who didn’t know the difference between fake and real.

“Just show it to me,” he snapped.

"It’s only _part_ of a spaceship, so don't get too excited, but…"

Was he teasing an alien? Jim wondered to himself as he threw open the trunk. The fragment was about the size of a dinner plate, glimmering orange and pink and gold.

"You think that's real?" Jim asked.

Michael’s eyes went huge, and he snatched the ship piece from Jim’s hands. It lit up when he touched it, gold washing across its surface, and the light reflected in his eyes too. The slack-jawed awe on his face was gratifying and not a little heartbreaking, considering what Jim knew about the last time the kid would have been around something like this. 

“Where did you _find_ this? Are there more?” Michael asked breathlessly.

"I'll do better than that, I'll _give_ you this," Jim said, relieved this was going so well. "And I'll show you where I found it. We can go look sometime, if you like. But," and he waited until Michael was looking at him, "I think that entitles me to a bit of honest conversation first."

Michael’s face shut down at that, and he clutched the piece of alien glass to his chest. “What do you want to know?”

"Well. Why don't I tell you what I know, or guess, and you help fill me in?"

Michael nodded slowly, but didn’t come any closer. His thumb started up rubbing one of the broken-off edges of the piece. He wanted to put it in his backpack for safekeeping but didn’t want to let it out of his sight just yet.

“Okay. I’ll try,” Michael said.

Jim opened a folder, showing Michael newspaper clippings and files. “In 1947, an unidentified flying object crashed just outside of Roswell. In 1998, three children were found wandering the desert, mute. A few months later, two of them were adopted by Dave and Ann Evans. The third bounced around group homes and foster families. His last known whereabouts were in the care of a Mr. Albert Graves of Albuquerque. No one has seen Michael Guerin since then.” 

Jim paused, checking to see how Michael was doing so far. 

“He was a dick,” Michael said. It was no use saying that wasn’t him, or that he hadn’t run away. “But...you talked about the crash. So it’s...you really think I’m an alien?”

He’d remembered Roswell. Had hazy memories of climbing out of a huge glowing egg, even, and then when he started being able to move things, he’d thought, maybe...but he’d had no one to _talk_ to about it, so. He hadn’t been sure. It felt stupid to even think there was a reason beyond him being just a freak. But Mr. Valenti seemed to have answers.

“Well, what do you think?” Jim asked, trying to prompt Michael to talk. “Are there any ways you think you’re different from everyone else?” 

“I don’t have any memories from before I was like...seven.” He only even knew that much because seven was the age people told him he was at the group home. “And. Sometimes when I’m really mad or, like, freaking out, stuff...moves.” 

“That is pretty different,” Jim agreed solemnly. “Must be pretty scary.” 

“I’m more scared of people finding out,” Michael muttered. “I don’t care if I’m a freak. It’s kind of cool, even. But…ow!” He hadn’t even realized the side of the piece he was rubbing even had an edge—the whole thing felt weirdly (otherworldly) smooth, but he caught his thumb on something anyway, a drop of blood welling up there. He stuck it in his mouth to suck the blood away but pulled it out just as quick so he didn’t look like a baby.

“Whoops, hey!” Jim said, standing up. A First Aid kit was always nearby in the cabin, and he took it out to locate a band-aid. He looked up at Michael and held out a hand. “Wanna let me see?” 

Michael narrowed his eyes in suspicion but, after just a moment, put his hand in Jim’s. It was just a bandaid, right? No different than what nurses at school gave him. 

Jim tenderly wrapped the band-aid around the finger, nearly doubling it up around the tiny digit. He grinned at the kid. “Good thing your blood’s red, right? You ever seen _Star Trek_?” 

Michael refrained from telling him that he was perfectly aware of the color of his blood, because he’d seen it plenty of times before. Adults usually didn’t like that. 

“A few episodes. Miss Holly—she worked at the last group home I was at—really liked it and would let me watch it with her sometimes. It’s way better than _Star Wars_ ,” he added defiantly. Lee Johnson had punched him for saying that, but it was _true._

“Hey, both are good!” Jim said, patting Michael’s hand carefully away from the cut. “You want to talk to me about those bruises? Or...Mr. Graves?” Jim held up his hands to stop any protest. “I’m not sending you back to him either way. But I need to know some things so I know what to do next, okay?"

Michael glared at the ship piece. “I don’t want to talk about it. But yeah, he sucks, and shouldn’t have kids. At least, not kids like me. So if you can actually do something to stop him having kids, then, yeah. But…” He bit his lip, not sure how to say that he didn’t want Mr. Valenti getting in trouble on his behalf. He wasn’t with Mr. Graves anymore. He didn’t want to even think about him.

“I know you don’t want to talk or think about him, but the more you tell me the more I have to go on, definitely. Did he touch you…?”

“No!” Michael cut in. “No. He was just…” Michael made a face like he wanted to puke. Honestly, Graves had been better than the meth heads he was with the first time, and even bearable sometimes before his girlfriend broke up with him ‘cause of his anger issues. He was just loud and violent and hated kids except once a month when the check came in. His words. It all seemed unbearably stupid to Michael, who was used to not being wanted—he’d seen those checks. It wasn’t that much money. “He hated me and let me know it. That’s all. I just got sick of it.” 

“Okay, okay,” Jim said. “I know it’s tough. Thank you for being brave.” 

He let that sit, but Michael didn’t acknowledge it. 

“How did you like staying with the Ortechos?” 

Michael stared down at his feet and scuffed his toes on the carpet.

“It was whatever,” he said, but then relented, not wanting to sound ungrateful. “Mr. Ortecho is really nice.” 

“He is really nice,” Jim agreed. 

“But he—they shouldn’t have to put up with me in the middle of their family. I’m not theirs. Mr. Ortecho wanted to make pancakes because of me and it meant everyone had to wake up super early and I think Liz was upset about it. It’s okay. I’m okay. I can go somewhere else.”

“Do you have somewhere in mind?” Jim asked, kindly but pointedly. 

Michael just shrugged. 

“Do you want to know why I asked Mr. Ortecho and the girls to take you in?” 

“‘Cause you knew that if you tried to make me stay with you I would’ve run away and you think Mr. Ortecho is a sucker?” Michael said, half confession, half accusation.

Jim actually laughed. “Not everyone who’s _nice_ is a sucker, Michael. Don’t mistake kindness with stupidity with him.” He sobered slightly. “Mr. Ortecho is undocumented. Do you know what that means?” 

“Yeah.” Michael picked at his bandaid. He didn’t really know what else to say, stomach pulsing with anxiety for the Ortechos.

“It means,” Jim said slowly, “that if you want to stay with Mr. Ortecho, you won’t be in the system anymore. I’ll still look out for you, but you can disappear, if you want to. I want to help you, Michael, not just because it’s my job. Mr. Ortecho wants to help you, too. And I think you could help him, too. Some people would call Mr. Ortecho an alien, too, you know.” 

“I don’t want to _disappear,_ ” Michael said, one hand gripping the piece, the other clutching the strap of his backpack so tight his knuckles went white. “I just want to stay right here. In Roswell. I _won’t_ leave. Even if I have to fight somebody.”

Jim shook his head. “Disappear from the _system,_ sorry, Michael.”

“Oh. Um. But if you do that, Mr. Ortecho won’t get the money, right?”

“Well, I think we can work something out. Unofficially. Get you a new identity.” Jim licked his lips. “There’s...another reason I think it would be a good idea for you to hide.” 

“Why do I need to hide…?” Michael had thought, had maybe a nightmare, maybe just bad thoughts, when he was holed up underneath the bus, about Mr. Graves tracking him down and killing him. But the seriousness, the glint of real fear in Mr. Valenti’s eyes, told Michael he was talking about something else.

“There’s a man I used to work with, his name is Sergeant Jesse Manes. He’s a bad man, Michael. He’s trying to find aliens, like you, and do some...not-nice things. So if you’re going to live in this town, you need to be very careful.”

“Why would he do that? What did we do to him? I haven’t done anything _wrong._ ” Michael said, voice getting higher and tighter with anxiety, the things on Jim’s desk rattling slightly.

Jim glanced at the rattling stapler and picture frame. “He has some...bad ideas about aliens. He thinks the aliens are going to hurt us. Fear can make people do terrible things, Michael. It doesn’t make what he does, or wants to do, _alright_. But it’s an explanation.” 

“It’s _bullshit.”_ Michael said, and then snapped his mouth shut. But when Jim didn’t puff up or yell at him for swearing or disrespect, he continued, “What happens if he finds me? What do I need to do?”

“Hopefully we won’t get to that point. But if he starts seeming interested in you, I want you to come straight to me, okay? And if he ever tries to grab you, you do _whatever_ you have to to get away. Got it? Whatever those—whatever you’re doing to make things move, I want you to do that in his direction.” 

Michael sniffed and stuck his hand in his pocket, fear spiking in him when his knife wasn’t there—he’d wrapped it up in his spare underwear at the bottom of his backpack that morning so Mr. Ortecho didn’t see it and try and take it away. 

So instead of feeling scared, he just narrowed his eyes at Mr. Valenti and mocked, “What do I do if he shows up on a random street and tries to give me food and get me into his car?”

Jim laughed at that. “Hey, mister, watch that sass. I promise, we’re the good guys. You can trust me. You want me to call the Evanses and see about you meeting Max and Isobel after they get done with school?” 

Michael’s picking at his bandaid made it unravel, and he stuck it behind his back so Mr. Valenti didn’t see he’d ruined it.

“What if they say no? Or what if...Max and Isobel...don’t care?” Then he said, “Not that I care. They can do whatever they want. It’s whatever.”

"Cool, then you're not afraid of me setting up a meeting."

“I’m not _afraid,”_ Michael said, bristling at the implication with all the dignity of ten year old boys everywhere. Not for the first time, Jim felt the urge to reach out and ruffle the kid’s hair, but wisely refrained for fear of getting it bitten off.

Maybe someday.


	5. Chapter 5

Max was a little surprised—but not _very_ surprised—when he got a note from the Main Office telling him and Isobel to meet Mr. Valenti for an after-school program that sounded pretty vague. It was signed with “hugs and kisses from your mom,” and he had to grudgingly admit that at least was probably not fake. It was kind of lame, because he had hoped to try to say hi to Liz Ortecho after school before her sister got there to take her home—

Except there had been that _boy_ , and Max was way more interested in him. 

“I’m telling you, Max, it’s _him_ !” Isobel said, reading the note over his shoulder and then snatching it from him. “There was a third one. We _did_ have a brother!” 

Max nodded, frowning deeply. Frowning not because he wasn’t excited to have a brother, but because these feelings always came with a crush of guilt that they had been separated. That he hadn’t known or been able to help him. “I hope he’s...been okay.” 

“Well, he’ll be okay _now,_ ” Isobel declared. “Now he’s got _us._ ” 

They both spent the rest of the day staring at the clock, not paying attention to school or friends at all. Max even abandoned the book he usually kept in his desk to read during Science. By the time the bell rang at the end of the day, Isobel had had her stuff packed for fifteen minutes, much to the dismay of her teacher. They met right outside the front office to wait for Mr. Valenti.

Jim waited until the crowds had thinned a little before heading to the main office. 

“He’s here!” Isobel whispered, hitting Max’s shoulder, before they even came around the corner. “I can feel him, I can—he’s here, Max!” 

And as soon as she saw Jim Valenti she ran for him, sensing a missing part of her. 

Max was only a few steps behind his sister, a huge beaming grin on his face. He wasn’t always as attuned to the mental connection as she was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t _feel_ it, hadn’t been crawling out of his skin for an entire day just like her. 

Isobel hit Michael with an _oof,_ both of them losing their breath as they collided in a hug.

And Michael was frozen. His brain was going a million miles an hour, but all his muscles were locked up, overwhelmed—but when Max stepped closer to join in the hug, he reacted on instinct, shoving Isobel away from him so hard she almost fell.

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted, hugging himself.

“Whoa, hey, hey now, easy!” Jim said, prying the kids apart, and keeping a hand close by Michael, but not touching him, in case he bolted. “Max and Isobel, where are your manners?” 

“But—but that’s—uhh—” Max said, face going from lit up to crestfallen in a second at Michael’s rejection. When he looked at Jim, his face flushed, like he was trying to come up with an explanation for why he rushed a complete stranger. “Sorry, sir. Sorry, uhh—” he turned to the boy, “my name’s Max.” 

“You’re our brother!” Isobel said confidently. “Right? From the group home? They never told us what happened to you! Oh, yeah. I’m Isobel. You can call me Izzy, but no one else can.” 

“I can,” Max clarified. 

Guilt slammed into Michael at the looks on Max and Isobel’s faces, so he slugged it right back. “You have no idea if I’m your _brother,_ we just got _found_ together. You two are siblings because you got adopted, and I didn’t. All I’ve got is the last name of the stupid trucker who found us!”

“But you are! Don’t be stupid!” Isobel shot back. 

“Am not!”

Max didn't help the situation by bursting into tears.

" _Alright_ , how about we go for paleta and talk this over?" Jim tried. 

“Don’t you feel something? We _missed_ you!” Isobel accused.

Jim pulled her back. “Give him time, Isobel. He’ll remember. Who’s up for ice cream?” 

Michael turned on Jim next. “You don’t know! You don’t know anything!”

Max sniffled, wiping his nose. “Can’t we go to the Crashdown?”

“Michael’s already been there. It’s where he’s staying,” Jim explained gently, trying to calm the chaos. “I want to show him someplace else.” 

Michael shot a furious glare at Jim. “I don’t _want_ to go someplace else. I just want to be left alone!”

Max, sounding close to tears again already, replied, “We don’t want to leave you alone!”

“Uh, Max, Isobel, can you give us a moment?”

Pulling Michael aside, Jim crouched down. “Now, I know this is hard.” 

Michael’s lower lip jutted out in a furious pout, so Jim tried again.

“It’s gotta be overwhelming. But remember that you came all this way to be closer to them. If you want to wait, that’s fine, but I don’t think you should. It’s terrible that you were separated at all, and no one should go through what you did. I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen again, alright? It’s okay to give them a chance.” 

Was it? Michael didn’t trust how _right_ it felt to be around them again; he was already imagining how it would feel when they were taken away again, or if they just decided to leave him. Better to get it over with quickly.

Just a few feet away, Isobel and Max were staring at him, and it made Michael want to take off into the desert and never look back. He’d felt the urge to go to them before, but he hadn’t known what it would be like to be around them like this. Like they were under his _skin;_ like they’d be with him forever. Except he knew that had to be a lie. Nothing was forever.

And how was he supposed to _wait,_ like Mr. Valenti said he could? If he waited, Max and Isobel would remember they didn’t need him at all.

“Whatever,” he whispered, not knowing what else to say. “We can go get ice cream. If that’s what everyone else wants to do. I’m fine.”

Jim frowned, watching Michael close up, like a flower blooming in reverse. Jim didn’t blame the poor kid, though he worried his siblings might. “Well, that’s a start. Thanks, kid.” 

Jim turned back to the twins with a smile. “Hey, okay, so, how about we take things easy for a bit? Start with some casual conversations. Give him some—” Max had moved close to Michael, and Jim took the boy’s shoulder and edged him back a bit. “Space. How about that, huh? Max, Isobel. This is Michael.” 

Isobel rolled her eyes, death-glaring at Michael, which was probably a better approach, honestly, than Max’s clinginess and puppy-dog eyes. “Okay, Michael. You ever had paleta? It’s like a fudge bar, but they come in all flavors.” 

Michael shook his head. 

“It’s really good,” Max said, “I’ll tell you what all the best flavors are and then you can pick, okay?”

“ _Not_ that we’ve had it that much either. Mom says too much sugar will make our teeth rot out of our heads,” Isobel added helpfully.

“Your mom sounds weird,” Michael muttered.

“Well, too much sugar will rot your teeth, so she’s right. But I don’t think one paleta bar will do it.”

Jim led the way down the road, letting the kids lag behind. Max kept gravitating towards Michael. 

“I’m sorry we scared you,” Max whispered, so, so earnestly. “I’m so glad you’re here. Michael? Is, uh, that right?” 

“Why do you even care? About my name, about me being here, like, any of it. You guys had each other, right? Why does it matter what I do?” Michael’s voice was dull, and he didn’t look over at Max or Isobel as he spoke, just shoved his hands deep in his pockets and wished he had his knife.

“Because we didn’t have you,” Max said, like that was obvious. 

“Stop trying so hard to act cool, it’s annoying,” Isobel told him.

Michael’s eyebrows jumped up and he turned to look at her after all. “ _Cool?_ ”

“Yeah, you’re all like _oh, whatever_ about everything. It’s not gonna work—Max is the least cool person on the whole planet, he’ll cancel you out.”

“Hey!”

“So you might as well cut it out and just act normal already. We care because we can _feel_ you, and we couldn’t before. This is better. E-even if you don’t feel us too.” Her voice wobbled at the end, but she just lifted her chin proudly anyway.

“You can, though, right?” Max asked, turning his puppy-dog eyes on Michael again.

Michael dropped his gaze in turn. “Yeah. I can. I guess.”

“I knew it!” Max said, and got halfway to the hug before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to, and stopped. “Uh—high five?” 

“High five yourself.”

Max grinned, slapping his own hand in an awkward clap. It made Isobel laugh at least. 

Michael kept trying to walk slower, to drop back and let the others go on ahead of him, but Max was dogged. He couldn’t speed up, because that would mean walking next to Valenti, and that wouldn’t be any better. Although maybe he’d be less chatty. 

“We thought about looking for you. We wanted to, but our parents—” Max began, but Isobel interrupted him. 

“They’re cool, but they’re just dumb, you know how adults are. They didn’t get that we were all together.” She lowered her voice. “Does Mr. Valenti get it?” 

“What does he know about us?” Max asked, suddenly serious. 

“A lot. Like...too much,” Michael said, dropping his voice. “Way more than I do. He said there were people who’ve always known about...people like us, and that they might want to hurt us.”

“Like him?” Max wondered, glaring at Valenti’s back. 

If Valenti heard them, he made no sign. Maybe if they all ganged up against him, he thought, they’d all be in on something together, right? 

Michael wrapped his cut finger around one of the straps of his backpack and shrugged. For a second, he wanted to defend Mr. Valenti, but he didn’t trust that instinct. Mr. Valenti hadn’t tried to hurt him _yet,_ but he might some other time. The alien ship piece in his backpack felt heavy as he considered it—but it was true, he didn’t trust Valenti yet. He couldn’t.

“He said that we should be looking out for a guy called Jesse Manes. And I believe that much—Mr. Valenti is scared of that guy too, I could tell.”

Max nodded, and Isobel spoke up. 

"Oh yeah that guy's scary. But one of the Manes kids is in our grade, and he’s okay. Allen or something."

"Oh, Alex, yeah," Max said, looking pained. "He's Liz's friend. I don't think the adults really know, but from what he says… Mr. Manes is bad news."

“Then maybe an adult should get a clue,” Michael snapped. 

Jim, trying not to let on that he was hearing all this, but logging it away for the next crisis, opened the door to the paleta shop, ushering the kids in in front of him. 

Max and Isobel rushed the glass case of popsicle-looking things, pressing their noses to the glass. Max beckoned Michael over. 

"Alright, rules are, on pop, one dip, one topping, my treat. We eat outside and we're careful about messes, got it?"

“Got it. Thanks, Mr. Valenti,” Isobel and Max chorused. 

Michael hung back. There were so many choices—too many, really. He should probably just order the exact same thing Max did so he didn’t mess it up somehow.

Isobel seemed to know immediately what she wanted while Max deliberated somewhat, and she rounded on Michael. "So do you like fruity flavors or like milky flavors? You know, chocolate, dulce de leche, cinnamon….? The chocolate selection is kind of minimal, but you can get it dipped in chocolate. I like a strawberry dipped in chocolate with sprinkles. I can help you pick if you wanna."

“Um...I like cinnamon. I guess.” He’d never had cinnamon ice cream, but how different could it be, really? But then he turned his back on Isobel and said, “Just get what you want. I don’t need help.”

“You _clearly_ do,” Isobel said, with a kind of vocal fry that made her sound obnoxious, but utterly confident. “Well, cinnamon is harder to mix, so you might just get a white chocolate coat. Maybe some nuts? Pecans, that would go well. Do you want me to order for you so if you hate it you can throw it back in my face and blame me?” 

The offer was almost a dare, but in a weird way it was almost kind. Took the pressure off. Michael wasn’t sure whether she meant it to be helpful or was just kind of bossy. Maybe it was both.

He let her order for him, though, and when they were all leaving the shop with ice cream in hand, he had to admit that she was right, and it was pretty good. Turned out cinnamon ice cream _was_ super different from the cinnamon stuff he’d had before, but it was still good. 

Jim let the kids go ahead of him, watching Michael like a hawk for any signs of anaphylaxis, torn between sweet relief that the kids were sort of getting along and the deep dread of not knowing what he would do if a small alien child with no medical history turned out to be allergic to nuts. But he didn’t freak out or throw it back in Isobel’s face, and seemed to be enjoying himself and was making significantly less of a mess than Max and his chocolate and peanut butter situation was (okay, so maybe alien kids _didn’t_ have nut allergies? Sample size of three). 

Outside, sitting at a picnic table, they were relatively alone, just three kids enjoying ice cream being watched over by a city official. As long as no one stopped by wanting to chat, as so often happened in a town of this size, they had time to talk. Jim told the kids what he knew, especially about them and their past, opening up to them in the hopes that, someday, maybe, they would trust him. 

“And you don’t have to confirm or deny anything,” he explained at the end, since Max had begun to look sick (though that may have been due to how fast he ate his paleta). “But if you need any help, I want all three of you to know that I’m here for you.” 

“How do we know that?” Max demanded. “How do we know you don’t just want us to trust you so it’s easier for you to get us?”

“I can’t wait to tell everyone that Kyle’s dad actually believes in aliens,” Isobel added nastily. Michael stayed silent.

Jim looked to Michael for a bit of help, but ultimately the man shrugged it off. He didn’t think he was getting through to the Evanses any time soon, and the only way he had gotten anywhere with Michael at all was because of how vulnerable the kid was. So, that was fair. 

“Well, even a crazy guy can be helpful sometimes, right?” Jim said. “Anyway, I wanted you kids to have a chance to meet, but I guess we’ve done that. I told your parents I’d drop you by your place if you’re ready to go home…” 

“W-wait,” Max began unsteadily, turning pleading eyes on Michael. “Maybe we don’t have to go just yet? We could, uh, show Michael the alien museum?” 

“We just spent like an hour being told all about how our families were aliens who died horribly, and you want to go see a museum about it?” Michael said.

Isobel lightly punched Max’s shoulder, the ultimate show of sisterly affection. “We can go to the UFO Emporium tomorrow or something. Michael’s not going anywhere, right?”

The silence that followed was way too long, but eventually, Michael looked up at Jim, then away, and then said, “...Right.”

“I-I just...I don’t want you to go,” Max said, all open and vulnerable. The kind of ten-year-old boy parents dreamed of, before toxic masculinity got a hold of them and made them monstrous teenagers. “Can I give you my phone number? I mean, I know where the Crashdown is, I’m always asking mom and dad to take us there…” 

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s got a g-i-r—” 

“Isobel!” Max yelped, cutting her off. 

Michael hesitated. “I don’t have a phone.”

“That’s okay! I won’t call you or anything,” Max said all in a rush, “I just want to make sure you know how to call _me._ If you need anything. Or just to talk! I promise, I’m here, no matter what.”

Michael wanted to scream. Maybe just to punch him. For the millionth time, he wished he had his knife. Whatever it took to get Max to stop—because Max couldn’t realize that _I promise,_ _I’m here, no matter what_ sounded like a threat to someone who didn’t trust you. “I don’t want it.”

Max looked like he might cry again, and Isobel rolled her eyes, dug in her backpack for a second, and then shoved an index card at him that had Max’s phone number as well as both Evans parents and a few other emergency contacts on it. 

“Just take it,” she said. “It’s not like I don’t have them memorized anyway. Look, just...we’ll see you at school when you start, okay? Or around town somewhere. Don’t get all twisted up about it.”

Michael fixed his jaw and nodded, and Isobel looked up at Mr. Valenti. “I think we’re ready to go home now.” 

Jim drove them home in silence, out to what passed for the suburbs in Roswell, and waved at Mrs. Evans from his car as Max and Isobel ran for the door. 

"Well," he said when he and Michael were alone. "That was a start. You think you could be up for getting registered for school today, or you want me to take you home?"

“I want to go—back to the Crashdown,” he replied, staring out the window, definitely not back at the Evans house. He wanted to be alone, which he probably wouldn’t get there either, but it would be better than being stuck with Mr. Valenti and his deceptively kind face and his gentle questions any longer.

“Sounds good,” Jim said. “I gotta pick up my son from his abuela’s house, anyway, soon. I’m sure he’d like to meet you, sometime. And tomorrow we can get you signed up for school, alright?” 

Jim gave the kid a card. “That’s got my number on it. You call me anywhere, anytime. Call me collect. Call me with, you know, smoke signals or laser telepathy or whatever. I’ll be there.” 

Michael sighed, a heaving of his shoulders like the whole world was resting on top of them, and didn’t look away from the window. “Sure,” he said listlessly.

It had been a long day. Jim dropped Michael in front of the Crashdown, waited to watch him walk inside, and tried to feel good about the progress they’d made. He _did_ feel good about it.

He was just also bracing for the other shoe to drop, and hoping it was only a shoe, and not Jesse Manes’s boot on his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not the pod squad reunion we hoped for but maybe it's the pod squad reunion we deserve 😭


	6. Chapter 6

That night, Michael tossed and turned on his cot in Mr. Ortecho’s room. Every tiny sound became someone coming in downstairs—was Max or Isobel coming to find him. The little bit he slept was fitful, jumpy with dreams of being chased and cornered.

He woke up from one of those dreams sweaty and almost crying like a baby _again._ The room was all at once too dark and not dark enough, lit by the nightlight out in the hall and the glowing green of Mr. Arturo’s alarm clock: all at once too small and way too big, stretching out in every direction around him. 

He just wanted to hide. He wanted it all to go away. So he bundled his blanket around himself and slid off the cot, tiptoed to the door and out into the hall. He stood frozen on the landing, knowing any noise he made might make Liz or Rosa investigate, and that would become a whole _thing._ But where else could he go?

He could go right out the front door and not stop. His original, vague plans still seemed like an option in the back of his mind—find a cave somewhere, don’t get eaten. Mr. Ortecho wouldn’t care. He probably wouldn’t even notice.

...But if he did, he’d probably be mad. Michael hadn’t seen Mr. Ortecho get mad before, and he didn’t want to. But he couldn’t stay in bed all night—he just _couldn’t._ He’d explode. 

Glancing around, he noticed that the hall closet door was ajar. That was as good a place as any. Small, as dark as could be, and Michael was used to sleeping on the floor, so that didn’t matter. He had a blanket.

He crept over to the door and slid inside it without making a sound. It was a little cluttered, but nothing too bad; all Michael had to do to be comfortable was drag himself behind a stack of boxes for a little extra hiding, tuck as close to the corner as he possibly could, bundle himself up, and close his eyes.

Arturo woke to someone poking him awake. 

“Papi? Papiiiii,” Liz said, poking him in the ribs. Her Spanish was mumbled baby-talk, but that was the youngest for you: “Papi, I’m scared.” 

“Ah, mija,” Arturo replied, sitting up and pulling her into his lap. Lightning flashed outside the window, alerting him to the problem. “It’s just a storm, sweetheart. A little lightning. We’re perfectly safe.” 

“Okay,” she said, obviously just wanting to be held. 

So Arturo held her, humming softly with his eyes mostly closed. And when she fell asleep in his arms, he carried her back to her bed and tucked her in. 

It was only when he returned to his room that he realized Michael was missing. 

He swore loudly to God, checking the bathroom first and then, as quietly and quickly as possible, going downstairs to check that the door was still locked. He wasn’t hiding in the restaurant, or the public bathrooms downstairs. Could aliens disappear through walls? Maybe he could have locked the door behind him? All the while he searched, the storm raged outside, throwing awful shadows and flashes across the diner, and Arturo’s heart hurt fiercely at the idea that that boy could have run out into the storm.

Growing frantic, minutes from calling out a search party, Arturo went back to his room, to check that the boy wasn’t somewhere else in his room, only to hear a hitching sob come from the hall closet. 

Oh. Oh, no…

“Michael?” Arturo asked, opening the closet door and peering into the darkness. “Michael, hijo, what are you doing in here?” 

Michael didn’t answer, just wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself. He’d woken up to the sound of crashing thunder, and just for a terrifying second forgotten where he was, and now he’d never wanted to disappear so bad, to somewhere without loud noises or nightmares or adults expecting things from him. 

He hadn’t meant to scare Mr. Ortecho. He should have slept through it all, but the storm ruined _everything,_ and now Michael was bad and would probably get punished.

“Ai, hijo,” Arturo said again, trying to wedge himself back there. He hadn’t had to go back in this endless closet since Helena had left the last time and Rosa had stormed off, and Liz had gone hiding back here. He’d gained, uh, some weight since then. It didn’t matter how much, only that he couldn’t quite get back there as good with all the boxes (of Helena’s clothes and things) in the way. “Michael, it’s alright. What’s wrong? Is it the storm? Come on out of there, it’s dirty.”

He wedged his shoulder in between some boxes, reaching out, like trying to rescue a cat stuck up a tree. “Come on, give me your hand. Don’t you want to come out?” 

Michael shook his head in the dark and sobbed harder, pressing back into the corner. Another crash of thunder ripped through the air, making him jump, and he squeezed his eyes shut, squeezed his arms around himself, trying not to lash out and hurt Mr. Ortecho or reveal himself. 

If he went back to sleep, he would just have _more_ dreams. It felt like this night would never end, and at least if he was hiding in the closet he was safer than he’d be in bed, out in the open.

Arturo stopped reaching, his shoulder already aching, and tried moving some boxes instead, but it was no good: either Michael was coming out of there on his own, or Arturo was moving everything out from the closet in the middle of the night. 

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked softly. “I promise I won’t be mad. It’s okay, whatever it is.” 

How could Michael even say it all, through a throat clogged with tears? How to explain the preemptive grief of meeting the only two people in the world you thought you could love and knowing already they’d leave you? That he felt so lost all the time, and he didn’t know if it was because he literally didn’t belong on this planet, or if it was because there was just something wrong with him? 

“It’s j-just t-t-too much,” Michael sobbed, burying his face in his knees.

Arturo sighed. What could he tell his boy, this poor lost little soul that God had given him to watch over and care for? So he sat back with a groan. “I know.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of Michael sobbing drowned out by the storm. 

Finally, Arturo got up, and came back with a pillow and a blanket, and a glass of water. He wedged himself in amongst the boxes, propping his pillow up behind him. “I’ll be here when you want to come out.” 

A few more minutes passed, maybe ten or fifteen, before Michael cried himself out and was reduced to soft sniffles and, finally, silence. He wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his hand and then, in a hoarse little voice, spoke up.

“M-Mr. Ortecho?”

“Sí, Miguel?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What do you think you need to be sorry for, hijo? I promise you, whatever it is, you come tell me, and we’ll make it better.” 

He patted his knee reflexively, though he guessed Michael wouldn’t know what that even meant. Had Michael ever sat on a parent or guardian’s lap before? He patted the floor beside him instead. “You want to come out and talk? Or stay there?” 

Still sniffling, Michael crawled out from his corner. He didn’t come close enough to touch, but sat straight across from Arturo where he could see him, close enough to the door that he could make a break for it. 

With his head hung, staring at the floor, Michael said, “I’m sorry I made you come look for me. I kn-know you have to get up super early to work, and now you’ve lost a bunch of sleep because of me and I’m sorry. And I probably knocked some stuff over in your closet, so I’m sorry for that too. And I stole this blanket off the bed.”

“Well, that’s your blanket, Michael,” Arturo said. “Thank you for worrying about me, but that’s not your job. It is my job to worry about you. You have to wait until I am an old man and you are grown before you worry about me, eh? And if you knocked some stuff over, that’s alright, we’ll pick it up in the morning, okay? So, see? Nothing to be sorry for.” 

Michael made a watery little noise that might have been _okay,_ and another tear rolled down his nose and plopped onto the floor. He thought, not sure, that maybe he wanted to be hugged, but he didn’t know how to ask for it or if it would cost him something later. So he just inched a little closer to Mr. Ortecho, hoping that would be enough to make the wanting to be hugged go away.

“Would you like a glass of water, Michael?” Arturo asked, wanting desperately to reach out to him, but not wanting to disrupt this tenuous connection. “Or a hug might make you feel better—if you want. You know Liz got frightened because of the storm and she needed a hug, too, and she felt better. There’s no shame in it.” 

Biting his lip, Michael nodded, and looked up at Arturo for the first time that night. Arturo held out his arms, and Michael practically collapsed into them, stiff as a board but still burying his face in the man’s chest, not crying anymore but making little, sad hiccuping noises.

“Mijo,” Arturo said, slipping into the intimate term as he held the shaking boy. He rubbed his back and held him, and wrapped his blanket tight around him, though it had been a long time since he had swaddled a child. “It’s okay, shh. You are alright here, I have you, Michael.” 

Michael shook and shook until he turned into deadweight, asleep in Arturo’s arms. He wasn’t nearly old enough for the way his knees crunched as he stood up with the boy in his arms, but ah, well. He tucked Michael into bed and laid in his own bed, though he barely had time for another hour’s rest before he had to be up. Still he closed his eyes with a heart both full and heavy thinking about both the children he comforted that night, as well as his brave Rosa, who had scurried off the windowsill to pretend to be asleep when he brought Liz into bed. So he closed his eyes and intercepted his alarm before it went off, letting the children sleep as long as they could: they all needed it.


	7. Chapter 7

“...Does Ms. Batson always do that much reading time?” Michael asked. He hadn’t known how to feel when Mr. Valenti told him he’d be in the same class as Liz, but now he was kind of happy about it. Knowing someone on the first day, especially coming into a new school so late in the year, was an almost weightless relief. So he was fine, happy, even, waiting for Rosa to get out at the middle school and come by to pick them up and walk back to the Crashdown. He and Liz chatted about books and class the entire time, and the conversation carried over into the walk itself. Michael even forgot to be wary of her, or to remind himself that the Crashdown wasn’t his home, that it didn’t belong to him, that he shouldn’t expect anything from it or from the Ortechos.

When Rosa arrived, she recognized that he definitely had more excitement, more emotion in his voice than Rosa had heard from him so far, and she felt a distinct sense of dread that school did this for him, and that she was now outnumbered by friggin’ nerds. 

Still, it was kinda cute. 

Liz was in the middle of catching Michael up on how far they had gotten in reading _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ , so that story time at the end of the day would make more sense tomorrow, when Max jogged over, holding his backpack straps. 

"Oh, hey, Max," Liz said casually, before turning back to Michael, hardly stopping in her summary. "And the White Queen gets Edmund to listen to her because she gives him Turkish Delight, which Ms. Batson says tastes like jelly beans…"

“Jelly beans are gross.” Michael made a face to back up his statement. “And wait, why are they in Turkey... ? I thought they were in Narnia.”

He barely spared Max a glance, shoulders hunching up defensively. It was hard enough to deal with one set of people he was apparently supposed to call family; the thought of dealing with them at the same time was just too much.

“Hey guys! Are you talking about Narnia? I love those books too! Did you know that they first came out in a different order than the one we read them in now?”

“I...didn’t know there was more than one,” Liz said, trying to proceed, though she knew it was a lost cause. Max could be a pretty good listener, _usually_ , but he was a total book nerd, so all bets were off. “Well. Why don’t you tell him? You probably know the story better than me. We just got to the part with Edmund at the White Queen’s castle, though, so don’t give it away—”

“Hey, nerd boy,” Rosa said, using the fact that she was bigger than the 5th graders to her advantage. “My little siblings are talking. Why don’t you let them talk?” 

Michael gaped at her, so floored by her words he almost stumbled, the ragged toe of his shoe catching on a crack in the sidewalk. Max reached out and caught him, and if Michael tugged away it wasn’t as quick and snappish as it might’ve been.

“...He’s okay. As long as Liz says so,” Michael mumbled. “Anyway, he’s right. The library at my school in Albuquerque had all seven.”

Rosa rolled her eyes. Yeah. Absolute nerds.

Considering Max at “let off with a warning for mansplaining” status, Rosa hung back, glancing casually around for Maria. But since her mom usually picked her up, and often Alex, too, they were already gone. 

“It’s okay,” Liz said. “Anyway, she’s pretty obviously evil, but Edmund hasn’t figured that out yet. And that about catches you up. Are you excited for the riparian ecology trip?” 

“I own all the books! You can totally borrow them if you want,” Max blurted out. “But, hey, yeah, my class is going on that, too!” 

“It was a bust my year, don’t get too excited. We caught like, 3 lizards and no fish,” Rosa said, trying to keep their expectations realistic. “And, like, 97 bugs. Gross.” 

Michael clammed up as Max launched into an excited tangent about fish and a fishing trip his dad took him on last year, and Liz answered back with Facts about fish and other river wildlife. In Michael’s experience, field trips cost money and needed someone to sign a permission slip, and neither of those things were something he’d be asking Mr. Ortecho for any time soon. He still wasn’t sure when he’d be asked to leave, after all; he didn’t want to push his luck. 

“Where’s Isobel, anyway?” He interrupted Max mid-ramble.

“Oh, Mom takes her out for one on one time once every couple weeks. Isobel _hates_ it. She’ll be so jealous I got to hang out with you instead.”

“Who says you’re hanging out with us?” Rosa asked, staring him down until he wilted, and then she laughed. “I’m just kidding. No, but seriously, watch yourself. You’re making the twerp nervous.” 

She got a vibe that Max was trying to be helpful and friendly, but it was just freaking Michael out. Liz got along great with Max, since Max obviously had a crush on her and he agreed with everything she said. She’d have to give her sister The Talk someday, but it wasn’t today. 

Rosa was also beginning to piece together her dad’s conversations to her and Liz about their new brother and his whispered conversations with Michael and with Mr. Valenti. If Michael really was ‘special,’ like, really magic or whatever, and if Max really was his biological brother...did that run in families? Should she be nicer to Max, or, God forbid, Isobel? 

Still, Max was overbearing only on accident and a total pushover when pushed, so she wasn’t worried. 

“I was gonna help Michael catch up on homework for the rest of the day,” Liz said, when they were near the Crashdown. She turned to Michael. “Is it cool if Max comes? I’m pretty hopeless at the language arts stuff.” 

Rosa let this conversation play out. Maybe she’d be off babysitting duty entirely and she could go find Kate and Jasmine and hang out. 

Max’s eyes were huge and round and he stared at Michael silently begging him to say yes, but like he couldn’t help himself those eyes drifted to Liz every couple seconds, like he couldn’t stop looking at her. Michael snorted.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Maybe Liz and Max could entertain each other, and Michael would be left alone. He wanted to sneak away to somewhere he could pull out the alien ship piece Mr. Valenti gave him and just stare at it until the symbols on it started to make sense.

It seemed like neither Rosa nor Michael were going to get their wish, as Arturo quickly ushered them to a back booth and gave them both after-school snacks and an ultimatum: homework or chores. 

Liz and Max were the ones who seemed excited about this, as Max plastered himself next to Michael in the booth and Liz sat opposite him up on her knees so she could lean over the table, braids constantly swinging into the plates of food. 

“Okay, so we’ve done all the math up to here,” Liz said, noting a page and marking it in Michael’s book with a big star. “Maybe you did that already in your other school? You’ll want to do all of it, I guess. Math builds.” 

“Everything ‘builds,’ Liz,” Rosa said, rolling her eyes through _Tuck Everlasting_ (her copy had been vandalized into saying _Fuck Everlasting_ , by someone who was _definitely not her_ ). “You can’t read big words until you learn small words. You can’t draw a tree until you can draw circles.” 

“It’s not like math!” Liz protested loudly. 

Rosa threw a french fry at her. Liz ate it defiantly. 

Michael thumbed through the textbook. He had, in fact, done most of it in his other school, but this class was a little ahead of his other one, which was exciting. He might do it all anyway—while he might not side against Rosa, he secretly agreed with Liz about math, so the practice might be good. And anyway, it would be an excuse not to do the other assignment the teacher gave him, which was to write a paragraph about himself so she could get to know him. As if.

“Don’t you want your fries, Michael?” Max asked, nudging the basket closer to him. The concern in his face was so obvious and so sincere it made Michael want to scream.

He couldn’t explain how hard it was to accept Mr. Ortecho’s food. To be torn in half over not wanting to get used to this comfort but not being able to let food go to waste, either.

“I’m not that hungry. You guys can split them if you want.”

“What’s that? More fries?” 

“Dad!” Rosa complained, laughing, as Mr. Ortecho made his way toward the fryer, “Would it kill you to bring a salad? We’re growing kids here!” 

“Alright, alright,” Arturo said, kissing her forehead before disappearing into the kitchen to call out in Spanish to some of his chefs. When he returned again, it was with more fries, and this time, hot wings with lots of celery and carrot sticks. 

“Thank you, Papi,” Rosa said sweetly, kissing him and then promptly ignoring the carrots and celery in favor of the wings. “They’re pretty hot, so go easy on these, Michael. But please eat something, or he’ll just keep bringing food until he finds something you do eat.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Ortecho,” Michael mumbled, already wondering how old you had to be to work in a restaurant. Maybe he could wash dishes after hours or something.

After food was eaten and hands were washed, Max and Liz paired off to work on their Language Arts homework, and Michael buried his nose in the math textbook. It didn’t stop Max from glancing up at him every couple minutes, though.

“Are you sure you don’t want to work on this with us?” he finally asked. “We could all do it together…”

“I’d just get in your way. You two are doing fine. Liz can help me later if I struggle with it.”

But then Max deflated before his eyes, and Michael gave in.

“Okay, _fine._ Just let me find the stupid worksheet.”

Michael still didn’t have to talk much; Max was perfectly content to just monopolize Liz’s attention. But Michael had to contend with actually feeling happy that Max was happy to have him there, and how that feeling sat like a stone in his chest.

Rosa made a sufficient attempt at her homework before excusing herself to talk to her father about hanging out with some friends. Arturo let her go, of course, with a strict curfew, and Liz blew her a kiss as she breezed past. 

“Okay, so we just have to look up the definitions of these words. Unless Max knows them off the top of his head,” Liz said, fixing him with a stare. “Otherwise a Spanish-to-English dictionary is gonna have to cut it for us!” 

She laughed and crunched on some celery. “Michael, finish your food! We don’t get milkshakes after dinner if we don’t finish.” 

“I know all the words, actually!” Max piped up eagerly. “Which do we want to do first, spelling or definitions? I might be better at definitions…”

Michael latched on to that instead of talking about food anymore. “You can write down the definitions and I’ll work on the spelling, then. Liz, you can check our answers in the dictionary.”

“Isobel is good at spelling too! Even though she always just says her favorite class is recess…”

“She doesn’t even _do_ anything at recess!” Liz laughed as she got up. “Okay, I’ll go get the dictionary. Be right back. Eat!” 

“Mr. Ortecho’s really nice for giving us snacks,” Max said, once Liz was gone. “But my mom gives me money to give him for all of it, if you’re worried.” Max didn’t know why Michael was worried about that, any more than _how_ he knew Michael was worried, but he didn’t question it. “Of course you’ve gotta have dinner. You don’t have to feel guilty.” 

“ _Your_ mom gives you money. I don’t have a mom. I don’t have anyone,” Michael snapped.

Anxiety spiked through him as he realized he was hemmed into the booth by Max. If he had to get away, he’d have to go under the table or over it, and people would see, but if he didn’t then he was trapped unless Max got up to let him go. 

Swallowing down his sudden nausea, he added, “Anyway, maybe I’m just not hungry. I ate a lot at lunch.”

“Michael, I can feel when you’re upset,” Max protested, wounded, but trying to get through. “And she’s not my real mom, you know. We don’t know who our parents are...so we can count it for you, too, if you want. Like brothers.” 

“If you can feel me being upset, maybe you should _leave me alone.”_

God, he so badly wanted to throw his now-cold food directly into Max’s face. He had no right to be so nice, so understanding. Michael could feel him too, a low pulse of worry under his skin, and he wanted it _out,_ wanted it _gone._

“I just want to help, Michael.”

“Well maybe I don’t _need_ your help!”

He was too loud; people eating nearby looked up, and Michael’s ears burned red, and he slouched back in the booth to hide from their gaze. The condiment caddy rattled unhappily.

“Hey, I found a regular dictionary, too!” Liz said, dumping two heavy books down the table. “Everything okay?” 

“No, uh. Things are fine,” Max said, looking like he was obviously near tears, which Liz pretended not to notice. “If you got the dictionaries, guess you don’t need me. I could call my mom—”

“What’s the hurry?” Liz asked, looking between the two of them and deciding Max looked the most hurt, fixing Michael with a stern stare that read: _Look at him, he’s three seconds away from crying, but be my guest if you want to push him all the way._

“You don’t have to go anywhere, Max. I’ll go; I’m the one being a jerk.”

“No, no, Michael, it’s fine. I-I totally get it if you don’t want to hang out, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay? And you too, Liz, uh…”

“Max. Don’t be stupid. Stay,” Michael said, grabbing his wrist when he tried to stand up.

“How about _neither_ of you go anywhere,” Liz said, pulling up a chair on the end of the table so she could intercept but wasn’t exactly blocking anyone’s departure. “I’d like to do some homework!” 

And so she sat and started doing her definitions, not looking up at either of them, especially if they were going to act like _that_. 

Max fell silent and bent his head over his own worksheet, not even asking Liz to use the dictionary. Seeing him curl up like that made Michael twitch. Isobel should be here. At least when the three of them were with Mr. Valenti, Isobel could pull Max out of any mood by being either funny or mean. And then Michael got mad at himself for missing Isobel, grabbed his own worksheet, and turned his shoulder to the both of them.

After they’d all worked for a while, Max finally spoke in a tiny voice.

“If….if anyone wants me to check their work, I will. It’s just that Language Arts is my best subject. I just want to help.”

Michael puffed out a breath that ruffled the curls on his forehead.

“Okay, Max. Fine.”

“It’s fair, I always gotta check his math,” Liz teased, whispering exaggeratedly at Michael, “he _thinks_ he’s better than he is.” 

“Hey!” Max protested, but he was grinning, like he couldn’t be mad at Liz no matter what she said to him. 

“We ready for ice cream? I’ll go ask Papi.”

“Can I have the peanut butter blast-off this time?” 

“I thought you liked the little green man!” Liz said. 

“Oh, I do. I just want to try them all, you know,” Max said hastily. 

“I don’t want a milkshake. I’m fine,” Michael said firmly, pushing his own worksheet at Max.

“Are you sure? They’re _so_ good here.”

“I don’t like sweet things.”

“Really? You liked the paleta…”

“Maybe I only like paleta!” Michael snapped. Then he looked up at Liz and said, “Seriously. Tell your dad I don’t want a milkshake. His food is really good, I ate too much, and I’m full.”

Liz raised an eyebrow at him and at his barely-touched plate but said nothing as she got up to tell her dad. 

Max took the worksheets quietly and looked them over. 

Into this awkward silence came Arturo, drying his hands on his apron and removing his antenna. He and Liz were conversing quietly in Spanish, and when they reached the table, Arturo said, "Michael. May I talk to you for a minute?"

Every muscle in Michael’s body tightened like a mouse in the shadow of a hawk. It took him three tries to get out a full nod, and he was too keyed up to even respond when Max gave him an attempt at a reassuring shoulder squeeze when he went around him.

Clutching the straps of his backpack like his life depended on it, Michael crept closer to Arturo.

“Come on, mijo, let’s have a talk,” Arturo said, taking him upstairs and to the bedroom they shared. Arturo sat on his bed and he motioned for Michael to sit across from him on his. “Liz said you didn’t want to eat. Do you want to tell me why you are worried?”

“I don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me,” he blurted out. “Letting me stay here and giving me food and—If Mr. Valenti is making you do it, I’ll make him stop. I can just leave and it’ll be all my fault and he can’t do anything to you.”

“Ay, mijo,” Arturo said, and patted the bed beside him, wanting to embrace the small boy but not wanting to upset him even more. “Michael, no one is making me care for you. Even if Jim could make me take care _of_ you, no one could force me to care _for_ you, and I do. I want to see you healthy and happy, Michael. I know this is hard for you to comprehend, but I want you to know you can trust me as a father.”

“But _why?”_ Michael almost-wailed. Why would Mr. Ortecho, a man with kids of his own and a business and more than enough worries in his life bother taking on someone like Michael? It just didn’t make sense. 

“Because it is my job, Michael,” Arturo said, voice serious. “As a man, as a Christian, as a member of this community, it is my responsibility to take care of our children, as many children as God and special circumstances give me. It is my responsibility to care for those less fortunate, as you saw on the night where you did allow me to give you a free meal.” Arturo winked. “When you are grown, you will have responsibilities such as these, too, and you will understand.” 

“I’m s-sorry,” Michael snuffled. 

He didn’t even really know why, just that it felt like the right thing to say, since he couldn’t stop being stupid and not knowing things that kids like Liz and Rosa and Max probably wouldn’t ever need to be told.

“Come here, mijo, it’s alright,” Arturo urged, offering Michael a half-hug if he didn’t want the whole thing. 

Michael scooted into hugging range. He was still bad at hugs; he didn’t know where his head or his arms were supposed to go, so he was probably all stiff and awful to hug, but he was stupidly, pathetically grateful that Mr. Ortecho put up with him anyway.

Arturo pulled him the rest of the way in, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and taking his tiny hand in the other. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, you know. Except maybe not eating the food I put out for you, but only if that means we waste it. We’re both still learning, you and I, so no harm done. How about I heat it up for you again, eh?” Arturo offered, but didn’t move just yet. 

“That sounds good. I-I promise I didn’t want to waste it, I just…” 

Wasn’t hungry? Not a lie, really, but it was more than that; he’d been scared that the food was a trap, and a full belly now just meant more pain later. But he didn’t know how to tell Mr. Ortecho that.

“It’s okay, Michael. You can tell me. You do not have to, but it might help us both if you did. All I care about is that you are happy and healthy and doing well.” Arturo smiled, squeezing him one more time before loosening his hold. The boy was still rigid: but they would work on that. 

“Just, if there’s something I could do to pay you back? Like wash dishes or something? I just...hate not being able to pay you back…”

Arturo laughed at that, casting his eyes heavenward. “Ay! To have God bless me with a child such as you!” He hugged Michael again, shaking him lightly. “No, you do not have to wash dishes. You will have chores, of course, just like your—well, like Rosa and Liz. Do you want to know a secret?” 

Michael nodded against Arturo’s chest, then pulled back to look him in the eye.

“You are already doing me something of a favor. You cannot tell anyone, though. I love my daughters: two bright, beautiful girls with good hearts. They love me and love each other, and they even love their mother, who hasn’t been home since Liz was about 7. But,” here he paused, and touched Michael’s nose with his fingertip, “I have always thought it would be nice to have a son, as well. So maybe I _want_ you to be here, hm?” 

Lip trembling, Michael had no answer, so he just buried his face back in Arturo’s chest. 

He wasn’t sure if he should be mad at Liz for snitching on him or grateful to her; mostly what he felt was a trembling, insurmountable sense of gratitude to _all_ the Ortechos. To everyone in Roswell who was going out of their way to make space for him, from Mr. Valenti to Max and Isobel to Maria’s mom who ran Ranchero Night to the kid who sat behind him in Ms. Batson’s class and didn’t put gum in his hair.

Maybe whatever was coming to make him pay for all this would be worth it after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bullying cw for this chapter

Michael and Liz’s class had recess so close to the end of the day it barely felt like a break at all, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate it. The chance to run around and yell was like cool water on a burn even when he _liked_ the class and the teacher. He didn’t even mind spending most of it alone—just getting to run was enough. Liz was stubbornly loyal and stuck by him for the first few days, but today she was home sick. 

He was okay on his own, but there were hazards to being a new kid, and a sort of scrawny and weird new kid at that. 

He crouched behind the wall separating the kindergarten playground from the rest. It was a fairly solid hiding place; the monitor teachers usually noticed if too many kids came this way, but if it was just Michael, he was good at going unnoticed.

In Albuquerque, the bullies knew too much about him, and their favorite weapons were words and jeers about his lack of family, his old clothes, being poor. Here in Roswell, they mostly just seemed to throw rocks.

But Michael was surprisingly okay. His hiding space let him see past school grounds, out into the desert and the whole big box of the sky. It was so _open_ in Roswell. Michael wanted to go, start walking, explore it all, but he didn’t want to worry Mr. Ortecho.

“Found him!”

The voice belonged to Randy, the ringleader of the little group of bullies, and Michael scrambled to his feet when they rounded the corner. He wasted no time in trying to run away again—he could handle his own in a fight, but if it meant getting in trouble and disappointing Mr. Ortecho…

He’d barely gone two steps, though, when a hand jerked him back by his backpack.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Randy sneered.

“Away from you, where do you think, genius?” 

Michael struggled out of his grip, but when Randy grabbed him again, there was a terrible _ripping_ noise as one of the straps separated from the backpack entirely. Michael stood there for a second, ears ringing, gaping at the severed fabric.

And then he just saw red.

* * *

Michael worried at his busted lip with his teeth. Every step toward the Crashdown felt heavy, like he was walking through cement. He thought he should probably be crying, but his tears didn’t seem to be working anymore.

“I didn’t mean to,” he told Rosa for the fiftieth time. He’d been too covered in dirt and bruises from the rocks for Randy and his friends to blame everything on Michael, so at least there was that, but he’d still been sent home with a note for Mr. Ortecho, and let off with a stern warning that next time he’d be suspended. His stomach rolled with nausea, and he almost stopped walking.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Rosa said casually. “Happens to me all the time. Probably _will_ happen to me when I corner those little shits tomorrow to give them a wake up call.” 

She handed Michael a package of tissues so he could wipe up his split lip. “Dad’ll really lay into _me_ , because I’m older and should know better, or something. But these idiots just don’t listen unless you bust some heads sometimes, right? He may not even get all mad. He’ll probably be just _disappointed_ , which is worse, am I right?” 

The sick feeling just intensified, and Michael wondered if Rosa would hate him if he puked on her hand-painted shoes. 

“You really think so?”

Absent-mindedly, driven by muscle memory, he tried to slide his arm through the busted strap on his backpack, and felt nothing there. Again, he thought that tears should be happening or something, but he was just so numb and wired he could barely feel his feet on the pavement.

“Yeah, Dad’s pretty chill, you know. He’s busy being worried about Liz today, I wouldn’t sweat it. Even when he yells he never does anything. And those dumb kids started it! He’ll be mad you got hurt,” she said, touching his chin to try to get a look at the bruising. “I’ll deal with the bullies, don’t you worry. And I have an extra backpack you can have, though it’s kinda lame and blue.” 

“Thanks,” he said, because he had to, even though he thought maybe if he could find a needle and thread or some glue maybe, he could fix this one. It was the only thing that had been _his_ for a long time—he wasn’t ready to let it go. 

“Don’t get in trouble because of me, though—I’m not worth it,” he added matter-of-factly. 

“Psh,” Rosa said, a very teen girl kind of sound. “I’m always getting in trouble. Got nothing to do with you. Come on, at worst he makes you pick up extra chores. Maybe Liz’s, and I’ll help you.” 

Rosa took him by the arm as they reached the Crashdown, and found herself surprised as Michael yanked his arm free. 

No matter what Rosa said, Michael just...didn’t believe her. Couldn’t. Mr. Ortecho was so nice, but everyone had a limit, and Michael had been bad before, come home to other families filthy and covered in bruises, and been punished for it.

It was the thing even the nice ladies at the one group home had said when they thought he was asleep—he was sweet when he wanted to be, but he’d never be adopted because he couldn’t control himself.

He couldn’t control himself now. So he jerked away from Rosa and took off down the street, running without a destination, ruined backpack bouncing on one shoulder.

“H-hey! Michael! Michael, get—damn it,” Rosa said, running after him about half a block, but that little guy was fast, and anyway she was also starting to notice that trash cans and mailboxes he fled past were kind of...rumbling? Like there was a mini-earthquake happening within a twenty-foot radius of him? So she stopped. 

“Michael!” she called again, and stamped her foot, but he kept running. “Ugh!” 

Rosa tore into the Crashdown, hitting the locked door and having to use her key since she forgot Papi had to close for the day to look after Liz. It was a good thing, Rosa knew, because it meant her dad got more than one day off a week, but she also knew it was bad, too, money-wise. “Papi! PAPI!” she called, pounding up the stairs. 

“Shh! Hush!” he said in Spanish, meeting her at the stairs. “Your sister is sleeping! Where’s Michael?” 

“Uh. Not sure. I think he’s upset, hiding. I’m gonna go look for him, okay?” 

He looked sad and overwhelmed as Rosa dumped out her books and added some water bottles and snacks. “Rosa….” 

“I’ll find him, Papi. We won’t get into any trouble!” She kissed his cheek and ran back out the door, locking it behind her and following the way Michael had gone. 

* * *

It was shocking how quick Michael made it to the edge of town, only stopping once to puke into a bush. He was running again before he even stopped shaking through the nausea, and the shaking only got worse the more he ran, the lower the sun got in the sky. 

If Mr. Ortecho hadn’t wanted to get rid of him before now, this would surely do it. He said all those nice things before, but that was...before. Before he knew how bad Michael was at following directions or being polite or controlling himself. Surely he would have found out sooner rather than later, so this was probably for the best.

As the sun was approaching low enough that the clear blue sky tinted lavender, Michael reached the mouth of a cave, and turned inside. Something could be living in there, but it was better than being out in the open when it got dark. Maybe...maybe he could just sleep here and try again in the morning. To go back to Roswell, or to start life on his own out here, just himself. Alone, like he had wanted.

His heart pounded the entire time he explored the cave, expecting some wild animal to jump out at him, but when he reached the back of it his heart plummeted to his toes for an entirely different reason. Graffiti on the walls, candles wax-sealed to the rocks, chip wrappers and papers strewn on the ground—someone had found this place first. Maybe even lived here themselves, which meant Michael was trespassing.

But his legs wobbled, turned to jelly from all his running, stomach empty and growling, vision swimming, he was so tired. He wouldn’t make it to another cave, so he just sank to the ground behind a jagged pillar of rock, backpack clutched to his chest, knife held in both his hands. If he closed his eyes for just a second, he would surely be alerted if he heard any footsteps. It would be okay.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rosa is the best big sister ;.;

“Ugh!” Rosa said aloud, again, because if Michael was out in the desert, he could be anywhere, most likely getting eaten by drifters or robbed by coyotes or something. 

And now it was getting dark, and of all the things she forgot, she forgot a flashlight. Well, no problem. She had candles and a flashlight in her cave…

Which is where she found Michael, curled up asleep, face wet. Poor kid, he probably only cried when he slept, like some sort of traumatized weirdo. And he looked like such a little kid like this. It made her miss her sister, want to be with her. But her dumbass little brother needed her, too, she supposed, so she nudged him with her foot. 

“Kinda old for hide-and-go-seek, huh? Nothing and no one hides from me in this town, _hermano_.” 

Michael jumped awake, flicking his knife open and jerking it in front of him before he realized who was talking to him and hastily tried to stuff it closed and back in his pocket.

“ _Rosa?_ Where—what—what are you doing here? What happened, is Liz okay, is your dad…?”

Rosa laughed. “Where the fuck did you get a _knife_?” 

It was clear that away from school and home, Rosa’s vocabulary expanded immensely. “I mean, I’m here because I came to look for you, and I find you crashing in my spot. Papi’s freaked out and Liz might be dying. But I’m not gonna go back and check until you come with me.” 

Michael narrowed his eyes at her. “I bet Liz is _fine_ and already asleep. You’re just being a bitch.” 

But he had no argument about her dad, and his stomach did a slow roll. His mouth already tasted like sick, and that didn’t help.

Rosa laughed again, which maybe didn't help, but at least she wasn't mad at being called a bitch. "I'm the only person who's ever _allowed_ to be a bitch to you, _sí_?"

Michael didn’t know how to answer that. “This is _your_ spot?” 

It kind of made sense; the graffiti all over the walls looked a lot like the art Rosa left all over the walls at h—at the Crashdown, and it was definitely a relief that probably no one else had been there while he was sleeping, either, if this spot was Rosa’s.

"Yeah," she said, and this time she sounded softer. She unslung her backpack from her shoulder and sat down cross-legged. She passed Michael a water bottle. "I come here when I'm pissed at my mom or whatever. Or pissed at...everything, really. Papi wouldn't tell you, but I'm kinda crazy, you know. Like I saw you make earthquakes all around you when you were mad. Maybe I'm seeing things, but I get that feeling."

Michael’s heart jumped into his throat. What should he say? How mad would Max and Isobel be if he spilled the beans? Did it even matter, if Mr. Valenti already knew? What if Rosa told someone—like Jesse Manes?

“Maybe you’re not crazy. Maybe I’m just an X-man or something. Maybe I’m a mutant and that’s why Randy wanted to throw rocks at me,” Michael said tentatively.

Rosa only laughed again. 

“You’re such a nerd. Take the water, okay? We’ll talk, and we don’t need to go home until you wanna.” Rosa shook the water bottle at him. “I also got, let’s see...a Chewy bar...a fruit roll up...some pretzels…” She glances up at him. “Maybe let’s start you on the pretzels. You’re looking a little green.” 

“I puked,” he replied with a shrug.

“Definitely the pretzels, then.” 

He ate the pretzels slowly and sipped the water, already familiar with how eating or drinking too quick on an empty stomach could make you sick. When he was done, he crumpled up the bag and stuffed it in his pocket and pulled his knees up to his chest so he could stare at them instead of Rosa.

“I feel like such an asshole,” he said. “Your dad, you, even Liz with Max the other day...I keep making your family pick up after me. I don’t deserve the way you keep taking care of me. You were being nice after school, and then I made you chase me halfway across the desert.”

“And now you’re making me suffer through your pity party and thinking you’re unlovable.”

Michael laughed. That was fair.

Rosa continued, “I get it. It’s hard to feel lovable when people let you down. You can trust me, though, because I’ve had both. My mom’s a bitch, says she loves us, and then leaves. My dad, always there, always loves me, even though he has a stick up his ass sometimes. My sister, cries and takes my stuff all the time, but thinks I’m amazing, for some reason.” 

Rosa pulled out a box of matches and lit some of the candles. It made the room warmer. 

“And now there’s you. A new twerp I gotta look after. Total nerd. But, possible superpowers. Someone to share chores with.” Rosa settled back on the ground in front of Michael and started eating the fruit roll-up. “If you don’t stay at home you’re just gonna hobo it up in all my hiding places so it’s in my best interest to make sure you’re happy at home, right? So what do we gotta do?” 

“I _am_ happy at your house,” Michael protested. “Your dad is awesome. An amazing cook, and so nice, and even lets me sleep in his room! And Liz is so smart and pushes me at school, and I’ve never had anyone like that before, and she’s not even a jerk about it. And Rosa—Liz thinks you’re amazing because you _are._ You’re a great big sister. I can see that and I’ve never even had one.”

He clammed up then. He’d probably never said that much to one of the Ortechos—or anyone—at once. If Rosa was surprised, she didn’t show it. But she didn’t answer, and after a couple minutes of silence, he spoke again.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I guess I’m just so convinced that I’m going to fuck it all up that I just...want to get it out of the way.”

“Won’t work.” Rosa shook her head. “If he keeps taking _mom_ back, you better believe you’re stuck with us. You wanna know something so fucking stupid?” 

“What?” 

His question was sort of hesitant. He hadn’t heard anything about Liz and Rosa’s mom—didn’t know how bad what she was about to say might be.

“My mom’s a slut. Stepped out on my dad. I’m not even _his_ , and he still loves me,” Rosa said, with a shrug like she didn’t care, though her trembling lip said something different. “So, like, if you’re worried he won’t care about you ‘cause you’re not his.” 

“You _are_ his, though. ‘Cause family is about being chosen, too. That’s how it worked for Max and Isobel and the other kids I knew who got adopted.”

“So why won’t it work for you?” Rosa shot him a look that was half disbelief, half mocking, and he felt his face flush bright, burning red.

“Okay, but it just—it feels like it doesn’t _count_ for me because Mr. Valenti did something to _make_ your dad take me in! I know he did.” But Michael could hear even in his own words how weak a justification that was, how much it made him seem like a baby throwing a tantrum. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Rosa said. “You’re too smart to be stupid. And you’re not that special. The rules work for everyone, including you, or they don’t. Come here.” Rosa crossed her legs and patted the dirt directly in front of her. “¡ _Ven acá_!” 

Michael shuffled forward even though he kept a close eye on her hands in case she just wanted to smack him one.

Rosa pulled out a pack of baby wipes and attacked his hands, scrubbing them clean, pretending to not see when he flinched. She soaked another baby wipe with water next and started washing his face, scrubbing away the grime and tears and dirt and the bit of blood. “See, if we were in a perfect world, your mom would be here and she’d be doing this. Next best thing, maybe, it’d be my mom, and we’d all be a nice happy family who could adopt you normal. But here we are, and you got me. In case you’re worried you don’t deserve much…this is all you got.” 

At that, what could Michael do except try and take a page out of Rosa’s dad’s book? Clumsily, he threw his arms around her in a hug, tucking his face into her shoulder.

“I’m happy I got you,” he said. Then he pulled back, still blushing. “A-and anyway, your dad is, too, just so you know. He told me he’s glad he’s got you. Like, three times, just ‘cause.”

“Nuh-uh, you come here,” Rosa said, wrestling Michael all the way into her lap, so she could clean his knees and elbows, too where he had little cuts and scrapes. “Yeah, he’s always saying he loves us. It’s just what we do in this family, so if you’re gonna fit in...you could give us a _chance_ , you know.”

He could. He _should._ The Ortechos had taken him in, been nothing but nice to him. It had been almost two weeks now, and they’d never treated him like anything less. They’d given him so much; he didn’t have anything to give back, but he ought to at least try.

“Rosa?” he said in a small voice, “You’re not crazy. I do have super powers.”

Squeezing his eyes shut so he didn’t have to see her face, he lifted the box of matches off the ground and hovered it between them. It wobbled in the air, Michael having exhausted his powers earlier, but there it was.

And Rosa hugged him, laughing. "Dude, that is so cool! How'd you get those? I want some! We're gonna have to tell Liz." 

Her fingers sought out the tops of his thighs and his sides, tickling him as any good big sister knew how. 

Michael laughed and squirmed away from her. “I was just born with it, I guess. If I use it too much, I get sick...and you can’t tell anyone, okay? Maybe Liz. But not anybody else.”

“Okay, not anyone else,” Rosa agreed solemnly. “And...I don’t want to tell her about mom ‘cause...well, until she’s older. But you shouldn’t have to keep my secret if I don’t keep yours. So, whatever.” 

She shrugged and gave Michael the granola bar from her bag, popping a piece of gum in her mouth and smacking loudly. “So, you gonna name names or am I gonna have to beat up every 5th grader in your school until someone admits who hurt you?” 

“I’ve only been going there for like a week, I don’t know all of their names. Except the leader, he’s in my class and his name is Randy Hathaway. The rocks were his idea.” He picked at a threadbare spot on his knee. “Liz said I should tell the teacher, but I didn’t want to be a snitch.”

“Well, you figure out the style that works for you. Liz isn’t afraid of snitching. _You_ could drop rocks on their heads without them knowing,” Rosa suggested pragmatically. “Or you could be the kid whose much cooler and tougher big sister takes care of problems for him. Don’t be sexist about it. No one’s ever touched Liz since 2nd grade—” Rosa laughed. “I almost got expelled! But new school, new immunity...I don’t even need to hurt Randy that much, probably just make him pee his pants in front of his friends...”

“ _Don’t_ get expelled,” Michael said.

Rosa just laughed again.

“Thanks for the offer, though. But I’ll figure something out.”

She was right; he did have a lot of options. Maybe not something as obvious as dropping rocks, but he could trip bullies, or make them drop things, and who would know except _maybe_ Isobel and Max, if they saw?

“Okay. And I’ll just _talk_ to them, nice and easy,” Rosa said, with a small but evil grin. “No getting expelled. You gonna come home tonight? Papi’s probably having kittens. And we don’t need more mouths to feed.” 

“Um. Yeah. I...guess we should get going.”

“Good answer,” Rosa said, packing up her bag and helping Michael to his feet.

If he’d been worried about what Mr. Ortecho would think before, it had only gotten worse. But he’d done this to himself, so there was nothing left to do but face it. It would be full dark outside by now and would probably take an hour or more to get back to town.

They barely made it to the main road when a big truck pulled over, tires screeching. With the headlights, they couldn’t see the driver, and Rosa pushed Michael behind her, and then shouted, “It’s the cops!” and ran. 

“ROSA, IT’S _ME_!” shouted a voice behind them, sounding more annoyed than urgent or angry. 

Rosa stopped running, and laughed again. “Oh, I guess it’s just Mr. Valenti.” 

“And Sheriff Valenti,” said another voice in the dark, a lovely but stern woman with dark hair sitting in the driver’s seat. “You know it’s a little late for you two to be out alone?” 

“It’s not against the law,” Rosa shot back.

“No, no, it’s not, but Arturo called me because he was worried about you two,” Jim said softly. 

Michael searched Mr. Valenti’s face and body language in the dark for any sign that he was furious with him, and relaxed ever so slightly when he didn’t see anything. Rosa didn’t seem scared either.

“Let’s give you kids a ride home, hm?” Jim said.

And the sheriff added, “And then we can all get home to dinner.”

Michael’s stomach growled at the thought. He could get by for a while on the bag of pretzels, but after using his powers so much, and at the thought of Mr. Ortecho’s cooking…

“Okay,” he said, and climbed into the truck.

There was a back seat, which was lame, because Rosa wanted to ride in the bed on the back, and also because someone was already back there, playing on a Gameboy and not even looking up at either of them. 

"Kyle, say hello," Sheriff Valenti prompted, as the kids piled into the back seat. 

“Hi or whatever.”

“Who are you?” Michael asked rudely.

“Kyle.” He stuck out his hand for Michael to shake but pulled it back to have both hands on his game before Michael got a chance. “You’re the new kid that Trevor wants to beat up tomorrow. You should watch out. If you wait by the gym, me and Alex will back you up.”

"Kyle Manuel Valenti," the Sheriff scolded from the front seat, but Rosa gave him an approving nod. 

"Nonviolent approach, mom," Kyle said boredly, focused on his game. "If they see he's got friends, they won't start anything."

"I don't want to hear about any fighting," she said, while Mr. Valenti spoke into his cell phone:

"Arturo? Yes, I've got them. They're just fine, we’re bringing them home now."

A pause as he listened. 

"What? Arturo, no! Dinner? Michelle's on the clock, you know we can't—" Jim paused again, then leaned over to Michelle. "He says you should get off the clock. He made posole."

Michelle sighed heavily, but the smile Michael could see in the rearview mirror looked genuine enough.

“It’s impossible to resist Arturo’s posole, it’s true. But we can’t stay too long—Kyle needs to get to bed on time.”

“ _Mom!”_

Rosa snickered at Kyle’s scandalized whine, but Michael just smirked, until he met Mr. Valenti’s eyes in the mirror and schooled his face into a flat mask. Mr. Valenti couldn’t know he’d told Rosa his secret—the last thing he wanted was _another_ adult mad at him today.

“Well, we’ll come in, anyway,” Jim said noncommittally. Rosa kind of got the impression that he was noncommittal about a lot of things. But he was nice to her dad, anyway, at the very least out of guilt. “It’s no trouble, Arturo. See you in a few.” 

Rosa was glad when the Crashdown came into view. She felt a bit like a triumphant warrior returned home with her quarry, or maybe, more realistically, a mama cat returned home with a dumbass kitten who got lost. Either way, good excuse to half-ass her homework, right? 

She ran in first, running to her father’s apron strings and reporting to him in Spanish. “I found Michael, Papi. Some kids bullied him and the teacher got mad and he got scared. But he’s okay, now.” 

Then she realized Liz was sitting in one of the booths, all wrapped up in a fluffy blanket and looking bright-eyed and happy to see them. “Hey, pepita! How you feeling?” 

“A lot better! Papi says it was probably just a twenty-four hour bug,” Liz replied, with all the impenetrable confidence of a kid parroting her father. She turned to Michael and scolded, “We were so worried about you! I told you to just tell Ms. Batson!”

“I’m not a snitch,” Michael mumbled, though it sounded less logical when he wasn’t just saying it to Rosa, who understood that code.

Arturo bustled to the front door to pull Michael in by the shoulders, hugging the stunned boy and then holding him at arm’s length, shaking him just a little.

“You scared me senseless!” He scolded, then hugged Michael again when he made no sign of fear, only letting him go to vigorously shake Jim and Michelle’s hands and thank them profusely, before hugging Michael close to him again.

“I was hoping you’d be out for the whole Mathlete season,” Kyle told Liz, finally putting his Gameboy away. 

Rosa was going to have to watch that kid around her sister in the future. She pushed Michael into the seat next to Liz, who hugged him immediately and mercilessly, and slid into the seat beside this Kyle kid. 

“Fat chance!” Liz laughed, seeming not to be sick at all, except that she was in her pajamas and a little flushed. “Mr. Ramos’ class is going down! Right, Michael?” 

“Alright, no fighting about math at the dinner table,” Arturo said, bringing out bowls of cheese, fresh limes, cilantro, onions, and all the other toppings. “Please, please, Jim, Michelle, stay. It’s the least I can do.” 

Jim glanced at Michelle again for confirmation before nodding. “Thanks, Arturo. Let me help you in there.” 

Inside the kitchen Arturo ladled posole out into bowls on trays while Jim watched. “I’ll talk to his teacher, make sure everything’s okay. Are you _sure_ you don’t need anything, Arturo?” 

Arturo looked at him, wondering how much of this was guilt, and for what, and how much was him just doing his job. Finally, his pride let him speak, for the good of the boy:

“He needs his own room. When Helena comes back... _if_ … And I think, after today, he needs new jeans.” 

“Clothes are easy. I’m serious about making sure you get the money you need to take care of him—and before you make that face, it’s the same any foster parent would get. It’s no windfall, but it’s something. And it’ll cover a few pairs of jeans and a new backpack. The room is a little harder, though. Did you have anything in mind…?”

Arturo frowned over the next bowl of posole. “Check upstairs. The hall closet. I think we could clear it out, maybe enough to put a bed in there? I do not want him to feel like this, this Harry Potter character, but…it would be his own space?” He sighed, filling the last bowl. “I found him hiding out in there, anyway.” 

The two men looked out into the diner at the kids’ booth and heaved identical sighs.

“If he’s already seeking it out as a safe place, we should check it out. You’re not locking him in there or hiding him away—it’s a good idea, Arturo.” Jim clapped him on the shoulder. “...Have nights been tough? Was today the first time he’s run away?”

"Yes. I thought it would happen more, but he is just so scared and—I think we had a breakthrough after I found him in the closet. I thought he was doing better until today." Arturo sighed and picked up a tray of bowls. "Pick up that tray?"

“There will always be setbacks, but considering the circumstances...you’re doing great. Trust me.”

Jim grabbed the other tray and followed Arturo out of the kitchen. The four kids had their heads bent together, deep in a conversation that cut off when Arturo approached. Jim raised an eyebrow at Michelle, sitting a few tables away, who shot back an exaggerated eyeroll and a quirk of her lips.

Nothing serious, then.

He set his tray down at her table and sat across from her. 

“Your son is hatching big plans for _nonviolent approaches_ to destroying fifth grade bullies,” she said.

“Oh, _my_ son?”

“When he’s plotting to _nonviolently_ get detention for a week, he’s your son.” 

But it was clear from her voice how proud she was of him for sticking up for Michael and any other kid being targeted, and Jim already knew from experience how hard she’d come down on any teacher that felt otherwise.

Arturo frowned a little that the other kids were already targeting Michael and no one even knew he shared a room with his foster father yet and that Arturo couldn’t even provide new clothes for him. 

Well, he consented, other people got checks in the mail for fostering children. What he had he would gladly accept: a brother for his daughters, a son for himself, one less child out alone in the world and the angels smiling down on their family. And they would never go hungry, at least. 

“We are lucky, aren’t we?” he asked, looking across at the children. 

If Michelle stiffened at that, Jim only gave her a pleading look. 

“Yes,” she said eventually, and then, more quietly, “We should be a part of her life. If we’re going to be here for him, as well.” 

“We’ll need to keep an eye on all of them, anyway,” Jim also whispered. 

They ate mostly in silence after that, only broken by spoons on bowls and Arturo and Michelle maintaining occasional, polite conversation about Arturo’s cooking. Everyone was relieved when Liz almost fell asleep in her bowl, giving Arturo an excuse to get all the children upstairs, and Jim and Michelle a reason to collect their own child and leave.

“I’ll be by on Sunday with lumber and paint,” Jim promised, shaking Arturo’s hand. When Michael raised an uncertain eyebrow at him, Jim deflected. “And you and me and Kyle are going shopping on Saturday for new jeans. How’s that sound? Heck, maybe we can invite your sisters, if you want?” 

When Arturo and Michael both cut their eyes at him, Jim raised his hands. “It’s not charity. I’d honestly die for that posole, Arturo. See you all Saturday!” he said, and beat a hasty retreat. 

Liz, just lucid enough to have an opinion, cast anxious eyes up at her father. “...I don’t have to go shopping with boys and Rosa, do I, Papi?”

Arturo just laughed and hefted her into his arms, heading for the stairs and trusting, however foolishly, that his two little runaways would follow.

“You don’t have to do anything but get some rest,” he said, kissing her forehead. He carried her all the way to bed, where he helped her get into her pajamas and kissed her again, speaking softly in Spanish. “If you feel sick again tonight, come right to me, okay? Papi will take care of you.”

“I feel okay, Papi,” she replied sleepily, then paused. “But not okay enough to brush my teeth…?”

“Ah-ah-ah, nice try, mija.”

He went to the bathroom and came back with Liz’s toothbrush and a cup for her to swish and spit into and brushed her hair for her while she did it. He was always so gentle—gentler than her mama or Rosa, and by the time she was done brushing her teeth she was almost asleep again, and Arturo took the cup and brush from her before she spilled it all over her bed.

“If anyone makes fun of you for your closet bedroom, I’ll kill them for you,” Rosa told Michael, as they loaded the industrial dishwasher together. “I heard Papi and Mr. Valenti talking. That’s what you get for hiding in the closet.” 

She giggled and flicked water at him. 

“My closet bedroom kicks your bedroom’s ass,” he said, flicking water back at her. He didn’t have any evidence for his claims, but he didn’t care—the thought of having his _own room,_ someplace quiet and closed in, had him giddy like he had to be in a dream.

“Now you can cry in it all you want,” Rosa laughed, hugging him hard around his shoulders and wiping her soapy, wet hands on him. “And I am _totally_ going shopping with you Saturday.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?”

He squirmed away from her and dodged her next soap attack, getting around her so he could close the dishwasher and start it up. With that chore completed, he bolted out of the kitchen, laughing as Rosa chased him.

“Hey, hey, hey, cállense ya! Your sister is sleeping!” Arturo scolded them as they ran up the stairs. “Practice your silent chasing! Get ready for bed and you can sit quietly and do your homework before lights out.” 

As _quietly_ as she possibly could, Rosa shoved Michael out of the way to get to the bathroom first, and he went to yell at her but clamped his mouth shut when he saw Arturo’s stern look. 

He stuck his fingers into the hole in his jeans again and stared at it instead of Arturo. “Thank you for dinner. It was really good,” he whispered.

Arturo opened his arms, inviting a hug, and was grateful when the boy rushed into his arms. “Thank you for coming home. I know sometimes you need your space, Michael, but I never want you to feel like you cannot tell me everything.” 

He ruffled Michael’s curls and cautiously kissed the top of his head. “You want to tell me what happened today?” 

Michael pulled away slowly, grateful but still needing his affection in small doses.

“Um. Some kids have been giving me trouble at school, just, like, shoving me on the playground and stuff, kicking my seat in class...but I thought I had a place to get away from them on the playground today, but they found me anyway. One of them grabbed me, and he ripped my backpack, and…” Michael broke off when tears welled up in his throat. What if Mr. Ortecho told him he had to throw it away? He didn’t want to. It was _his._

(It was his fault it ripped, too. He wasn’t even supposed to have his backpack on the playground, but he’d been nervous to leave it behind in case someone went through it and took the food he had in there, and Ms. Batson was nice, so she let him take it. But if he had just followed the rules…)

He coughed and continued, “And I punched him, but he couldn’t run to the teachers because they’d been throwing rocks, so.” He tongued his split lip again. “And then when Rosa and I were walking home...I just got scared. I’m sorry.”

Arturo sighed, easing to sit on a chair that was in the hall. “Now, I will not say punching was not the best way to handle the situation, because I was not there. But it is usually not the best idea, understand?” He squeezed Michael’s shoulder. “But you do know that this was not your fault, right? We are not responsible for the actions of others.” 

Michael just nodded. It was easier than trying to explain everything—and anyway, he _did_ know that it wasn’t his fault Randy was a mean, stupid idiot, and apparently had friends in Kyle’s class who were mean, stupid idiots, too. 

“You should go to bed, Mr. Ortecho,” Michael said earnestly. He looked so tired sitting in that chair. “I promise I won’t get into any more trouble tonight.”

“Ah, mijo,” Arturo said with a sigh. “I’m not worried about you and trouble any more tonight. Maybe you and Rosa and me sit and have ice cream while you do your homework, huh? And what are we going to do about this backpack?” 

“It’s fine still. One of the straps got ripped off of it, but I can carry it on one shoulder.”

Rosa emerging from the bathroom saved him from having to ramble more in defense of his maimed backpack. He darted past her before she was even fully out of the doorway and proceeded to wash up slowly, hoping Arturo and Rosa would have changed the subject by the time he was done.

"He doesn't want a new one, Papi, I already asked him," Rosa was saying when he came out. "I can ask Marisol's mom to fix it!"

"Ask her how _much_ ," Arturo said tiredly. "No arguing. You have homework to do before bed."

"What’re you gonna do?"

Arturo smiled at Michael. "See if I can get your Mama's things out of the closet."

"Let me play with a lighter and _I_ can help with that," Rosa offered. 

Arturo did not laugh, but he didn't look angry, either. "Just go downstairs to the back booth and do your homework, mija. You, too, Michael."

Michael only had math and spelling to work on, but Rosa had something for every class (some of it being makeup work for classes she’d skipped, but her dad didn’t need to know that). So once Michael finished, he pulled her math and science and did them himself, figuring that Rosa had done enough for him already that she deserved it.

Rosa gave him a considering nod. “Yeah,” she said, watching him with a growing grin on her face, “yeah. You can stick around.”


	10. Chapter 10

“I told you he wouldn’t show,” Alex said, kicking the wall so as to scuff the new shoes his dad had bought him. “New guy’s shifty as hell.” 

“Yeah, total hard case, according to my dad. Mom thinks he’s had a stint in juvie. I think he carries a knife,” Kyle suggested. 

Alex laughed. “Yeah, right. Only reason I’m here is I hate Trevor more.” 

Kyle rolled his eyes. “You’re here because I promised to give you half my lunch tomorrow and your lunches always suck.” 

The two of them stopped talking, and Alex paused mid-kick, at the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching. Michael rounded the corner at a skid and bent over to pant until he caught his breath, while Alex stared Kyle down like  _ what have you gotten me into.  _

Michael, for his part, had totally planned to blow Kyle’s offer off—until he’d gone back to his own hiding spot and found Randy already there. He hadn’t let him even open his mouth before going off like a shot, straight to the gym. 

“I think I lost them,” Michael said, straightening up. “But Randy’ll probably be around with his friends any second. What’s your  _ nonviolent  _ plan to impress your mommy, Valenti?”

"Them? Who's them?" Alex asked, peering around the corner and not seeing anybody except Randy. "Was it Randy or Trevor we have to worry about? No fucking way Randy tries anything without a posse."

Kyle patted Michael on the shoulder. "It's fine, man. Me and Alex are in karate together. Deflecting hits is nonviolent, right?"

Michael shrugged Kyle’s hand off with a scowl and jogged over to peek around the corner too.

“I only saw Randy, but I figured the others would fall in line, like they were waiting to spring a trap,” he said, a note of doubt creeping into his voice as they watched Randy mill around looking for Michael. “Valenti’s the one who said Trevor wanted to kick my ass.”

“Oh yeah,” Alex grinned, and it wasn’t a nice grin. “He was telling us  _ all _ about it. He was going to  _ smear _ you. But lucky for you, we’re here. Maybe I'll smear  _ him _ .”

"Alex doesn't get in trouble for fighting as much as I do," Kyle explained, coming over to look. "Huh. Yeah, that's Randy. Coming this way. Alone?"

And Randy looked nervous. When he finally spotted them, Kyle and Michael ducked back but Alex gave him a hard glare, and he came over, dragging his heels. 

"Look, uhh, it was all just a joke, you know that, right?" Randy stammered. "I mean you gotta tell her."

"Ms. Batson?" Alex asked. 

"Your mom?" Kyle asked. 

"I'll give you my Pokémon cards!" Randy said to Michael, getting increasingly agitated, though Alex and Kyle were calm. 

"Ooh, I'd accept that apology, he's got a Charizard," Kyle suggested.

When Michael didn't speak right away, Randy kept going, squirming like he was dealing with the worst wedgie of his life. "I'll talk to Trevor. None of the guys'll bother you, I swear."

"Can we have  _ Trevor's  _ Pokémon cards?" Alex leveraged. 

“I don’t know,” Michael said, a sharklike grin spreading across his face, “I think you’ll have to ask  _ her. _ ”

“ _ C’mon,  _ you little—I mean, come on, dude!” Randy whined.

“Okay, fine. Fork ‘em over.”

Michael snatched the cards from Randy’s hand and flicked through them. After letting him sweat for a minute or two, Michael finally looked up and said,

“Sure, man, you’re off the hook. I’ll let her know. But if I ever hear about you or Trevor or anyone harassing these two either,” he jerked his thumb at Kyle and Alex, “I’ll tell her. And it won’t be pretty.”

Randy just flipped him off and ran away, and still grinning so much his face hurt, Michael turned to the other two. 

“Let’s split these. I don’t even really care about Pokemon.” 

“Who the hell is ‘her’?” Alex asked, with something like a new respect for Michael. “You got a Rottweiler or something?” 

Kyle, ever practical, was sufficiently distracted by the Pokemon cards. “Eugh, they’re all sticky, what’s wrong with that guy?” 

“I don’t know for sure, but I only know one ‘her’ who’s that scary.  _ Rosa. _ ”

He didn’t know when she might’ve done it or how or what she might’ve said, but somehow, without even leaving a mark on him, Rosa had solved the problem. Michael had never been  _ protected  _ like this before. He felt like jumping up and down or running a lap around the school or screaming. He felt like he’d be doing her math and science homework for the entire rest of the year just because he wanted to.

Alex smiled at that for the first time. “ _ Oh _ , I get it.” Then he laughed, like he was trying to sound scornful about it but was actually delighted. “So you’re really living with the Ortechos? Rosa and Liz are awesome.” 

“I told you, man, it improves his cool factor exponentially,” Kyle said, finally handing the deck back to Michael. “Okay, I’m taking Charizard as a tax and in return I’ll teach you how to play so Alex and I can cream you at it. Just don’t sic Rosa on us and we can be friends. Cool?” 

“Rosa does what she wants; don’t do anything siccable and you won’t have a problem,” Michael said, and shook Kyle’s hand firmly.

“You better trade me the Gyarados you caught or I’m going to tell Rosa you said that,” Alex muttered to Kyle.

“Dude!”

“What? I don’t need any of those cards, my deck is already perfect, and anyway you only caught that Gyarados because you knew I wanted one and you’re a dick.”

“You should do it,” Michael jumped in on Alex’s side, just because it was funny to see Kyle squirm, “Rosa wouldn’t be happy to hear that you think I can tell her what to do.”

" _ You're  _ a dick," Kyle complained. He wasn't exactly sweating in Michael’s direction, mostly annoyed at Alex, but, "Fine," he said, punching Alex in the arm and receiving a congenial punch back. 

"We're gonna go look at X-rated comic books in the Hastings after school, do you wanna come?" Alex asked. 

“Hell yeah.”

It was so much easier, somehow, to talk to Kyle and Alex than it was to talk to Max and Isobel. Maybe it was the lack of attachment—he didn’t mean anything to them, not really, so there was nothing to ruin. He meant something, Michael guessed, to Rosa and probably Liz at this point, if Rosa was going out of her way to make his life a little easier, but the math on that made sense. He helped them with chores and homework and didn’t get in their way too much, so they accepted him as part of their lives. 

But Max and Isobel…

He didn’t understand it. He couldn’t. They were still pulling on him, even from all the way across the playground, it had just gotten easier to ignore. It still didn’t make any sense why they would care about him; he couldn’t make himself believe that the way he felt  _ right  _ around them wasn’t some kind of trick.

“Where should I meet you guys?” He asked, following them out into the wider playground, hoping he hadn’t missed anything in the conversation.

“We can meet back at the gym,” Alex suggested. “Invite Liz and Rosa, too, if they wanna. Maria’s mom is gonna take us.” 

Michael told Liz as soon as recess ended, but Maria had already invited her, and as she told Michael now she had too much makeup work on top of the night’s homework to go out with friends. Michael offered to do some of it for her, but the scandalized look she shot him was more than enough of a rejection for him. So he went to meet Alex and Kyle by himself, only to find Alex waiting similarly alone, as Kyle got a call from his mom reminding him his tia was coming over for dinner.

Michael didn’t quite know what to say to Alex, who in the absence of Kyle was kind of quiet and intense, who watched Michael with sharp eyes every time he talked, like he was looking for an opening. It was a familiar look to Michael. Still, they walked together to the school gates, where they found Rosa and Liz already waiting with Maria and Maria’s mom.

“Mama DeLuca’s gonna drop us off at the Crashdown,” Rosa reported, though this was obviously more seatbelts than Mimi’s Volvo was rated for. “I’m gonna go hang out with some other friends. Maria said she’ll look after you for me.”

“Hi, Michael! Remember me?” Maria asked cheerfully. 

“Yeah. I’m kinda surprised you remembered me, though.”

His memory of Maria from Ranchero Night was sort of hazy; he’d been so exhausted and out of sorts that night. But without her spotting him in the crowd and pulling him to the kids table, none of this might have happened, so he smiled at her anyway.

“Of course I do, silly,” Maria said, making an attempt to sound older by obviously trying to talk like her mom. “We’ll have fun just the three of us. You know, you try to pick an activity  _ both  _ the Ortecho sisters will enjoy, loitering and books, and they both blow you off.” 

Alex laughed. Rosa made a face. Liz just looked sleepy. 


	11. Chapter 11

The ride to the Crashdown was rowdy, since Liz had to sit on Rosa’s lap to be buckled in, so even though Mimi asked Michael to sit up front so they could talk, she mostly had to yell at the four in the back to settle down until they pulled over at the diner. 

“Tell your dad I’ll have Michael home by six!” Mimi called as Rosa and Liz made their bickering way inside.

The girls did stop long enough to wave and thank her for the ride before disappearing inside. 

“Now, Micheal,” Mimi said, as Maria and Alex became engrossed in discussion of something that had a lot of Japanese-sounding names in it. “Tell me a bit about yourself.” 

Michael shrunk down in his seat and wrapped his hand in a fist around the seatbelt. His foot started kicking, toe nudging his backpack on every pass.

“There’s not all that much to tell,” he said. “I’m staying with the Ortechos. I’m in Ms. Batson’s class with Liz. I was in Albuquerque until a little while ago. That’s basically it.”

“What’s your favorite subject in school?” Mimi pressed, quite easily, like talking was the most natural thing in the world. “Or do you not like school?” 

“I like science. And math, but only really because you have to know math to be good at science. Being able to _do_ stuff is better than just knowing it.”

“Ah, well that’s very practical of you,” Mimi agreed, and Michael appreciated that she at least sounded like she was taking him seriously. “Well, Arturo and Jim are friends of mine—by which I mean I can bully them if you need anything, okay? You just let Mama DeLuca know. And you can call me Mama DeLuca, if you like.” 

“Sure,” Michael muttered, sinking down further into the seat. Like he was going to encroach onto _another_ family like that.

The drive was a short one (every drive was short in Roswell, Michael gathered), and when Mimi stopped the car outside the store, Maria and Alex thanked her and scrambled out of the backseat, but Mimi held Michael back.

“Just one sec, baby,” she said, and as Michael watched she pulled out her wallet.

“No,” Michael said firmly before she even had it open. “I’m just here to look. I don’t even really like comics that much. I don’t need any money.”

Mimi smiled and said in a vague, dreamy tone, “Oh, this isn’t for you. Well, it is, but what you’re buying doesn’t have a price tag.”

She counted out three dollars and pressed them into his hand.

Then, she said, “Before you say anything, I already know you’ll pay me back one day. I’m good like that. Now you better go—they’re waiting for you.”

Michael glanced out the window, and sure enough, Maria and Alex were waiting on the sidewalk by the door, staring back at the car. For an awful moment, he was torn between standing his ground and giving back the money and racing over to them like an excited puppy, terrified that if they left he’d never see them again. 

“Go on,” Mimi said, so Michael opened the door and followed instructions.

Inside, Maria and Alex looked like they knew exactly where they wanted to go, and they beckoned Michael after them. All the graphic novels were in the same aisle, with the apparently “pornographic” ones filed in with the rest. It seemed to Michael like Alex and Maria hadn’t seen much in the way of actual porn as they giggled over vaguely racy pictures before settling down to actually looking at books they wanted to read. 

“Have you read any _Naruto_ , Michael?” Alex asked. 

“Did you know there’s a _Buffy_ comic series now?” Maria asked. 

“Um. No,” Michael said, answering both questions at once. “I haven’t really watched that much TV.” 

He stared at the shelf, dismayed and out of his depth, until he spotted a familiar logo and reached for the row of _Star Trek_ comics.

“Oh! Oh, man, I _love_ these!” Alex said in delight, like he was finally opening up to Michael for the first time. 

“Me, too!” Maria said, adding several comics to the stack. “Which is your favorite _Star Trek_ ? I like _Next Generation_ best.”

“I’ve only really watched the original. But _Next Generation_ is good too—Worf is super cool.” He was an alien, he was angry a lot...what’s not to like? Michael couldn’t help but grin, but it faded fast when he looked at how many books they had stacked up. “We’re...we can’t buy all these, right?” 

“No, we’re _browsing_ ,” Maria said with confidence. “As long as we buy something and we put them back when we’re done, nothing says we can’t look! We usually like to sit for a bit and read, see what we like. I like looking at the journals and toys, too, though.”

“I’m gonna pick up some manga, don’t worry,” Alex said, handing Michael a trade paperback: “You can try the DC Series 2 _Star Treks_ , and if you like this one, you can borrow my copy.”

“Or the _Buffy_ ones are great, if you like horror,” Maria said, trying to make her voice sound spooky. She added another graphic novel to Michael’s pile. “I’ve got the DVDs of those if you haven’t seen them. _That’s_ something Rosa is into at least!”

Alex laughed. “She doesn’t like the sci-fi stuff at _all_. Neither does Kyle. It’s the worst!” 

Maria giggled along with him. “She says aliens are lame and so are we for liking them ‘cause we live in Roswell. Kyle, though—Kyle’s just _boring._ He actually _likes_ baseball, can you believe it?”

“What’s _Buffy_ about?” Michael asked, glad to get the conversation off aliens and how much Rosa disliked them.

“Vampires!” they said together, a little loud for a bookstore, and then as one they guided Michael to a table by a window. 

“Well a vampire slayer,” Alex said. “And her friends. And her weird relationships with some of the ‘good’ vampires. Angel and Spike are trash, though.” 

“Take that back!” Maria complained. “Buffy and Spike for-ever!” 

Michael still didn’t really get it, but he was happy to listen to the two of them bicker back and forth about vampires and superior relationship pairings as they dug into their comics, and even happier, in a way that felt unrealized and fragile, when it bickered off to quiet companionship, each one of them lost in their own little worlds, only reconnecting when it was time to pass the next book from the pile. Time passed so quickly, and it wasn’t even hard to stay still, with Maria on one side of him and Alex on the other, and his mind full of the starship _Enterprise_.

He wondered if Max and Isobel liked comic books, but shut that thought down right away.

“Well, who wants a snack?” Maria asked. “My mom gave me money, we could all split something from the cafe.” 

“Yeah, I’ll eat anything, thanks. I’ll put the books back, okay?” Alex offered, keeping aside the modest pile for purchasing as Maria went to the cafe counter to purchase a snack and Alex and Michael put the books back they weren’t getting. “Did you like that _Star Trek_ one? You can borrow mine. I have like, a whole box.” 

Michael hesitated, scenarios racing through his head about how he’d end up ruining Alex’s comics and making him hate him forever. But. Giving and taking comics would be an excuse to keep talking to Alex, right? He would just have to be so, so careful. And ignore the rotten voice in his head whispering that if he couldn’t even take care of his backpack, he’d probably ruin this too.

“Um. Yeah, thanks, man,” he said. "I did like them." 

They rejoined Maria at the cafe and, practiced now from meals with the Ortechos, Michael made sure to take just enough of the pastry she’d bought that no one would comment on it, while Alex and Maria had the lion's share. Alex and Maria launched into a deep conversation about the volume of _Naruto_ Alex was getting, and they tried valiantly to keep Michael informed, but he was supremely in over his head.

“You’ll have to catch Michael up on _Naruto_ , too,” Maria told Alex, seeing that he was left out a bit. “Bring Volume 1 tomorrow. And maybe we’ll have a _Buffy_ night!” 

“Yeah! You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Michael?” Alex asked. 

“You can say if you’re not interested,” Maria said, with an air of someone who desperately wanted him to be interested. 

“Yeah, sounds cool.” Then, wishing dearly he could shut the fuck up, Michael blurted out, “But you don’t have to invite me to stuff just because I’m staying with the Ortechos. I’m fine on my own. I’ll tell Rosa I turned you down, you don’t have to worry.”

Alex and Maria blinked, their faces shuttering up a little, confused. Maria actually laughed a little, nervously. 

Michael drew into himself, tucking his arms against his chest, eyes falling to stare at the ground. Ruined it. Of course. Because he couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut.

“Hey, look,” Maria said, squeezing Michael’s shoulder. “First of all—” 

“We’re not scared of Rosa like those other jerks are,” Alex finished. “If you think we’re—”

“Inviting you to things because we feel sorry for you or something—” Maria continued, obviously used to being interrupted by and finishing Alex’s sentences. 

“You haven’t met my dad,” Alex growled. “You don’t have to humor _us_ , either, you know.” 

With that, Alex took his comics and went up to the register. 

In the silence that followed, Maria frowned and patted Michael’s hand. “I know you didn’t mean it like that. Alex doesn’t have a lot of friends he gets to talk to about stuff like this with, so he’s sensitive.” She shrugged. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t trust people easily.” 

Michael stared after Alex, face red. 

“I don’t think you feel sorry for me,” he said, lamely. 

Maria just kind of smiled at him, a little sad, a little awkward, and she went to follow Alex. 

Michael hung back, not sure if he should follow or wait by the door for them, but (pathetically, for someone who kept insisting he didn’t need anyone…) he jogged after her anyway.

Up at the register, something was clearly going wrong. 

“It said those were on sale. Manga 3 for $10!” Alex protested.

“Sorry, but that excludes new issues.”

“So full price for all of them is…?” 

“$17.26,” the woman behind the counter said. 

Alex sighed, pulling out five more dollars. “Crap. Maria, do you have any change? I’ll pay you back.” 

If he noticed Michael had joined them again, he ignored him. 

“Let’s pay together, I might have enough,” Maria said, putting her comic on the counter and rummaging through her tiny purse. 

Feeling a little nauseous at the talk of money, Michael shoved his hands into his pockets. Immediately, he felt the crinkle of Mimi’s three dollars, and his heart jumped. Maria’s mom said he needed them to buy something without a price tag, and comics definitely had price tags, but Michael didn’t really care just then.

“Here,” he blurted out, just about sticking the money in Alex’s face. 

“Look, I don’t need your money,” Alex snapped.

“Sorry, I’m out,” Maria said, when they were still over two dollars short. “Michael, it’s okay, you don’t have to. He can pick up the new issue next month when it’s on sale.” 

Alex, however, looked vaguely queasy about this prospect. “Devon is gonna be insufferable if he reads it before me…” 

“I want to help,” Michael insisted, though it made his nausea worse. “Just take it. I’m not gonna ask you to pay me back or anything. You let Maria help.”

Alex turned up his nose like he wanted to say something really mean in response to that, but either because of the presence of the cashier or The Look Maria was giving him, he bit it back and snatched the money. 

"Thank you," he murmured, but whether it was to the woman behind the counter or Michael or Maria, it wasn't clear, as he took the purchases and gave Michael 62 cents in change and led the way outside. 

Maria hung back a bit to wait for Michael, who felt like every step was through eight inches of mud. Just because it was a bit of a relief that it was easier to make Alex hate him than it was Max and Isobel hate him, didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. His eyes kept drifting to the tough, tense line of Alex’s shoulders, and it made his stomach clench every time. The change weighed a hundred pounds in Michael’s pocket. Hopefully he’d be able to leave it in the cupholder in Ms. DeLuca's car or something. Or maybe he should just offer to walk back to the Crashdown so Alex wouldn’t have to be stuck with him.

He tried to smile at Maria in thanks, but the look on her face told him it wasn’t very successful.

They stepped out into the heat, like a blast from an oven, and Alex stalked to the spot to wait for where Maria’s mom would pick them up. He waited until he was in the shade before turning back around, standing up to his full height. 

“Think whatever you want of me, but if you think anyone would pity you for being taken in by the best family in this goddamn town, _Rosa’s_ not the one you need to be worried about, because I will _so_ punch you.” 

“I mean, second best,” Maria said, folding her arms in a superior way. “And _we_ don’t do the fake friends thing, Michael. If you want to be alone. Fine. But that’ll be your choice.” 

“All I _meant_ was that you don’t have to hang out with me just because you already like the Ortechos. Or because Kyle’s dad told him to be nice to me and you got stuck with me too. No one wants to be stuck with the weird new kid, okay? You wouldn’t even take the Pokémon cards.” And all of the sudden that felt gross—Alex had helped him and didn’t even get paid for it. Now Michael owed him. But he barreled on, not able to let it stand, “I already _know_ the Ortechos are the best family in town, _duh._ ” Then he wilted. “Or tied for best, whatever. Your mom seems cool, Maria.”

“I’m not being nice to you because I have to,” Alex said sternly. “I use all that up for my dad. I kinda hate you for being an asshole right now, but that’s different.”

Maria gasped. “Alex!”

Michael’s mouth fell open, but then he snapped it shut. Maybe he didn’t know much about how to tell if he was being an asshole, but he knew a thing or two about shitty dads. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rolled his shoulders, and made sure to look Alex in the eye.

“Okay, so maybe I’m an asshole. But if you ever wanna stop hating me for it, I bet Mr. Ortecho would let you stay the night sometime. If, y’know, you needed to get away. You can come share my closet.”

Alex snorted in surprise, and Maria laughed openly. 

"You sleep in...the closet?" Alex asked, grinning. "Like Harry Potter?"

"I think the moral of the story is we do sleepovers at _my_ house," Maria suggested. 

“It’s a big closet!” Michael jokingly protested. “And anyway, I’ve never read _Harry Potter_. If he’s a wizard why doesn’t he just do magic to make himself a bedroom? That’s what I’d do.” If he had powers more useful than making stuff rattle when he got mad, that is.

"YOU’VE NEVER SEEN HARRY POTTER?" Alex shouted, and Maria actually squealed. Both of them grabbed Michael and hugged him, practically jumping for joy. 

"Okay, okay, sleepover plan, stat," Maria said. "We'll have to ask my mom! I mean, if you want to," she asked, sobering abruptly. 

“I mean…” Michael rocked on his feet, then took the plunge. “I mean, I’ll have to ask Mr. Ortecho, I guess.”

"I'll have to wrestle with my dad about it. There's two movies, so we could maybe do them just after school sometime, too," Alex said, also sobering somewhat. "Before the next movie comes out."

"And the books are even better, if you like them," Maria said. "Hey, there's my mom!"

Mimi pulled up to the curb and Maria got into the front seat this time, chattering happily about _Buffy_ and _Harry Potter_ to her mother, who smiled and nodded along. That meant that Michael was in the backseat with Alex, who cracked one of his comics open and stuck his nose in it, so Michael dropped his change in the cup holder and stared out the window instead, watching Roswell go by and trying to wrap his mind around actually having plans with friends.


	12. Chapter 12

Michael shook on the front step of the Crashdown for a second, watching a car roll past, hands tucked into the slightly-overlong sleeves of his sweatshirt. As soon as it passed, Michael started down the sidewalk, following the road out of town.

The wind was cold on his nose and ears as he walked, but at least the shoes Mr. Valenti bought him weren’t worn down or pinching like the ones he’d brought from Albuquerque. He’d bought a notebook at the store too, one of those ten cent ones, and he was using it to brainstorm ideas for how he’d pay him back. Mr. Ortecho, Mr. Valenti, Ms. DeLuca…one day, Michael was going to pay them all back.

But right now, he didn’t even have money for a bike, which would make things a whole lot easier.

If any more cars passed him, he might’ve flagged them down and tried to hitch a ride, but none did. He was alone on this road out into the desert, following some...some call he still didn’t understand, pulsing in his chest.

He should have gone by the Evans house. Thrown rocks or something. He felt colder with every step, to the right and left of him. Maybe they would know something about the voices he kept hearing, the lights he kept seeing in his dreams. They could talk about it with each other, after all.

Either way, they should be here, under the enormous moon.

Rosa’s cave was this way, but Michael continued past it, well off the road but not scared at all of getting lost. There was something else out here...something that he needed to find. He stopped at the mouth of another cave, feeling—he couldn’t go in. Not now, not like this, he needed…

The sounds of someone or something approaching was followed immediately by the someone or something being on top of him, as two kids on bicycles swerved around him and encircled him. 

“Michael?” Isobel asked, stopping her bike and flicking down the kickstand. 

“Michael!” Max dumped his bike in a heap, nearly tripping himself as he got off in his excitement. “Michael, I can’t believe you’re here! You felt it, too?” 

“If by ‘it,’ you mean a really friggin’ weird dream, then yeah.” Michael took a step back, not wanting to be hemmed in. He looked over his shoulder at the dark opening of the cave. “Do you guys know what this place is?”

Max shook his head, and then hesitated, turning to Isobel. 

She said, “I’ve dreamed about it a lot. Something big, and glowing. Like the moon, but—anyway, tonight was the first time Max dreamed it, too.”

“Did you dream it, too, Michael?” Max wondered earnestly. “How are you doing? How’s Liz?” 

“Something big and glowing...yeah. But it was faint. Mostly I heard voices. But I couldn’t tell what they were saying.” Max’s other questions were less easy to answer, and Michael stared hard at the dirt and stopped himself from digging the toe of his shoe into it. “I’m fine. Liz is fine.”

“Good. That’s good, that’s great,” Max said warmly, ignoring the rest. 

“Do you think we should...go inside?” Isobel asked, more single-minded. "I mean it’s a creepy cave. We probably shouldn’t. I... _feel_ something in there.” 

She glanced at Michael, obviously not trusting him as much as he didn’t trust her. 

“I mean, if all three of us feel it, it’s probably an alien thing, right? I want to see.”

Michael took a step closer to the cave, tentatively at first and then more firmly when nothing happened like an abduction or an explosion. 

“Okay, wait!” Max said, and then wedged his way in front. “I’ll go first. In case it’s dangerous.” 

“You’re such a chauvinist,” Isobel said, like someone who had just learned that word. 

“It’s okay. First one into the alien dream cave, first one eaten by alien coyotes…” Michael said. He squinted into the darkness and wished they’d brought flashlights.

Soon, though, after fumbling around, they emerged from the passage into a room where flashlights weren’t needed at all.

 _“Whoa,”_ Michael said, rushing to one of the glowing orbs and plastering his hands all over it.

“Michael, don’t touch that!” Max cried, alarmed, but Isobel rushed past him to do the same. 

“Max, I—these—” she gasped, touching the smooth, glowing blue...thing. “I remember these! I—we were—sleeping?” 

“Hatching? No, sleeping,” Max agreed, and touched the center orb. “Is it a dream or a memory?” 

“Dude, are these our _eggs? Did_ we hatch? I remember, like, a _little_ of that night, but I thought I made it up! This is crazy!” Michael said, not sure whether he was grossed out or fascinated. There were symbols swirling in the surface of the thing, but Michael couldn’t get a good enough look at them to even try and understand.

“I think it was...day,” Isobel said, running her hands over the orb, like touching it would tell her its secrets. “When we—came out. Not hatched, it’s not an egg. We were already grown. These were like—ugh, don’t you guys remember?” 

Isobel turned to them both, reaching out to them, palms up. “Both of you, take my hands. It’ll be easier if we all remember together.” 

Michael took her hand, though his lack of hesitation clearly surprised the other two, and Max followed. Max then held out his hand for Michael to take it too and complete the circle. Michael didn’t think that was part of what Isobel could show them, but he took it anyway, just so Max would stop giving him that look.

He closed his eyes, then opened them in the same cave. Everything was hazy, but the orbs stood out, and inside them were... _them._

They watched as first Max and then Michael and finally Isobel opened their eyes and pushed their way out of the...well, not eggs. Clearly not eggs. They were scared, confused, but not infants. They were naked, for some reason, and they took each other’s hands, and walked out of the cave into the desert… 

“Pods,” Max spat out, like dragging up an ancient memory, as they all opened their eyes and sucked in air. “They were escape pods. Does that sound right?” 

“But escape from what?” Michael asked.

He opened his eyes and looked across the faint, _otherworldly_ light at the two of them, and he was very suddenly very sure that he only wanted one thing. He wanted his mom. He never thought about having a mom or having a dad—having had parents before the big blank in his memory, but now he wanted to scream and cry just at the thought of it.

And he wanted a hug. He wanted to get out of here; he also never wanted to leave, in case they were coming back for them. Turned out he wanted a lot of things he was never going to get.

“Michael, please,” Isobel said, stopping him. He looked down and realized he was halfway out of the cave already. Her eyes were shining with tears, too. “Please, don’t leave us again. We’re meant to be together. You’re our _brother_.” 

“There has to be three,” Max said, voice breaking. “It’s broken without you.”

His grip on his control was slipping—the thing he _needed_ to keep himself from sliding into a pit of stupid hoping, a hole he’d never climb out of if or when he was left behind again. This stupid town kept finding his walls and bulldozing them, and for a lightning-brief, awful second, Michael wished he’d never left Albuquerque, or that he’d been trapped under that bus forever.

But here he was. He did leave. He came here; he answered the call. So whatever was coming next...he asked for it.

“I’m not leaving,” he said. He closed his eyes again, but he could still feel them, Max and Isobel, the only two people like him on the entire planet. “I guess Roswell is home now.”

Max walked across the small space to pull Micheal into a hug, so un-selfconscious about it that Michael couldn’t resist. There was no ulterior motivation here, only a desire to comfort and be comforted. Even when Isobel joined in, both of them hugging him, he didn’t move away. He might even, by a certain definition, have hugged them back. 

“We were scared, weren’t we?” Isobel murmured. “Looking for someone—having only each other. I hate that they split us up.” 

Nodding, Max held both of them tighter, like he could protect them with his skinny ten-year-old arms.

Michael bit back the words that almost fell out of his mouth—that he was still scared, that it had been years since he had had them or anyone at all, that being split up hadn't hurt her like it had hurt him. Instead, he said, “We couldn’t speak, but we could communicate. Can you two still…?”

“Yes! Yeah, we can,” Isobel said, sliding her hand up Michael’s back to touch his head. “Maybe we could...reconnect?” She smiled a little wryly, but her eyes were hopeful: “I just got a _hug_ from you after two years and five months, I don’t want to push it. We can try later.” 

“We can try now, maybe.”

In the fragile silence that followed, Michael almost thought he already could hear them, feel their happiness that he was here, but how was he supposed to trust that it wasn’t just wishful thinking?

Max’s voice broke the quiet. “Guys, it’s almost 2 in the morning. Should we head back?”

Michael wanted to snap at him. How could he want to leave now? If he could, Michael would spend the rest of his life curled up in this cave with the pods, thinking of his mother. Whoever she was. If she existed.

But ultimately, Max was right. He had to get back to the Crashdown before Mr. Ortecho woke up to begin morning prep at the diner, and at this rate he’d never make it.

 _Please, you have to hear me. I can't live my entire life only telepathically communicating with the most boring dweeb in the universe!_ He heard all of a sudden, in Isobel’s voice, like the line had just suddenly reconnected. 

"Hey, I heard that," Max snapped irritably. Then he did a double-take, looking at Michael. "Did _you_ hear that?"

“I heard that,” Michael repeated, swaying on his feet. “I heard that!”

“Yes!” Isobel shouted. 

Max hugged him again, crushing him in a deceptively strong grip and lifting him off the ground. “This is so good!”

“You can give me the answers during tests!” Isobel said, “Since Max won’t.” 

Max pouted. “He’s not in our class, he won’t have the same test. And it’s cheating! Liz would be mad!”

“I’ll give you the answers anyway, Iz. ‘B.’ ‘Square root of -17.’ ‘The War of 1812.’ There, I aced it for you.”

"Boring! You guys are so boring! We're literally the pod people from outer space and you won't even use our powers to help me not have to study! The nerve!" Isobel said, though it was very clear her sentiments were exaggerated for comedic effect. 

"Come on," Max said, still holding onto Michael, squeezing his shoulder. "Let's get these covered up a little more and we can give you a ride back."

"We could push them further back into the cave, maybe," Isobel suggested, but with an air of someone who wasn't about to lift a finger to do that. 

Michael and Max pushed and shoved, but the things were _heavy_ and two ten year old boys could barely manage an inch. Even with Michael’s powers, they hardly budged, and Michael was afraid to push too hard anyway, in case he just exploded them instead.

“I’ll come back,” he said, panting. “I’ll do ‘em little by little until they’re all the way in the back. It’ll be fine—if no one’s found them so far they’re probably not in danger, right? We only found them because they...called to us.”

“Well, okay, good point,” Isobel said, but insisted they cover up the entrance with tumbleweeds and rocks until it didn’t look much like a cave anymore. 

“It’ll do for now,” she concluded, when they were all sweaty and their hands scratched from desert bracken. 

“Come on, I’ve got pegs on my back wheel you can stand on, I’ll give you a ride,” Max offered, as he submitted to Isobel dusting him off. 

And for once, Michael didn’t even argue. Not the whole ride back and not when Isobel and Max dropped him off in front of the Crashdown and Max pulled him into another hug, either. He waved them off and slipped inside unnoticed, climbed into the bed that was built narrow and tucked against the wall just for him, but he didn’t close his eyes. No, he kept them open, staring at the ceiling like he could still see the swirls on the surface of the pod, all the way until it was time to get ready for school.


	13. Chapter 13

“There’s no way you read all the  _ Harry Potter  _ books in one week!” Alex practically screeched. He was one of the fastest readers in his class (only Max Evans was faster and knew some twelfth-grade words) and even he took a week on each book. 

“Well, only the first two so far. We’re only watching the first two movies tonight, right?” Michael said. 

“He’s lying to make you feel better; he’s almost done with book four,” Liz said. “I’ve seen it in his backpack and the flashlight under his door when I got up for water at night. Okay, Mama DeLuca, I think this is pretty well mixed!”

Michael sputtered out a protest, and Maria started laughing at the look on his face.

“Very good, Liz,” Mimi interceded before an argument could get started, bending down to take the mixing bowl. She gave the cupcake batter a few more stirs just to make sure, then turned to the stove to start dishing it into the pan.

Things were escalating across the kitchen as Maria jumped in on Alex’s side, and Mimi couldn’t help but smile to herself at the way Michael bickered with the other kids, the way he laughed as the others berated him. At how well things were going, the rhythm all their lives had taken, all their families, hers, Arturo’s, and Jim’s, over the past few months, when disaster so easily could have struck. Now if only something could be done about Jesse...

She slid the tray of cupcakes into the oven, then straightened up and spoke over the kids, ruffling Alex’s hair because he was closest and because she knew he didn’t get a lot of physical affection at home, with how he craved it from her. 

“Okay, time to get the frosting ready. For anybody who hasn’t used food dye, here’s how it’s going to work…”

Of course, it didn’t really work like that. They had several dishes with different colored frostings mixed up by the time the timer rang. All of them had dyed fingers and were either threatening to smear it on their neighbor’s face or shrieking in protest. 

“Maria,  _ don’t _ , this is a new shirt,” Alex said sternly, even as he was actively wrestling with Michael to try to dye his nose green. 

Liz took advantage of the battle all around her to taste some frosting. Mimi just laughed and stayed out of the way. 

Abandoning her crusade against Alex’s shirt, Maria joined him in ganging up against Michael, whose nose was green in no time, but who was as pro as Alex at making sure his clothes stayed clean. Last Mimi heard before she went to get the cupcakes out to cool was him squawking for Liz’s help.

Cooling was a process, though, so her next task was marshalling the kids into washing their hands and then spreading every sleeping bag and blanket she had out on the living room floor. She expected at least one sleep casualty before the first movie was over, so it was best to be prepared. 

“Mom, it’s so cool that you know how to make Cauldron Cakes,” Maria said for about the third time that night, and Mimi leaned over to kiss her forehead. It was nice to have a kid still young enough to be impressed by pretzel wands, food coloring, and a little ingenuity.

“I love these,” Alex agreed, pressing to her other side, and she kissed him, too. Clearly, Arturo didn’t leave Liz or Michael starved for affection, because they were very intently licking their frosting spoons. 

“Well, I’m not really going to be making them, you are,” Mimi pointed out. “Especially since we’re all going to help with the dishes.” 

The great thing about babysitting the children of a restaurant owner and a military officer was that the kids were pretty good about understanding their role in chores. 

“I could lick them clean,” Liz suggested. 

“I think you already have,” Alex pointed out, rolling up his sleeves with all the precision of a little man. “What house do we think Michael would be in?” 

“Maybe he should be a Hufflepuff so we’ll have one of each,” Maria suggested with a smirk. “You’re a hard worker, right, Mikey?”

“ _ Mikey? _ ”

"He is loyal," Liz confirmed, slinging an arm around Michael's shoulders. "He still hasn't ditched us for his rich siblings."

"I would have ditched you all if I had secret rich siblings," Maria laughed. 

Michael’s face flushed red. “Shut up! I’m not  _ ditching  _ anyone.”

“Imagine how bad he’d look in yellow,” Alex teased.

Leaving them to it, Mimi headed back into the kitchen to check that the cupcakes were sufficiently cooled, and when they were she called the kids back and set each of them up with two cupcakes, a bowl of frosting and pretzel wands, and a towel to protect their clothes—out of respect for Alex’s new shirt and out of respect for her own inability to throttle the man who bought it for him. Out of the same respect, she kept an eye on Michael slipping pretzel wands into his pockets and elected not to say a word.

"Well, what house would you put yourself in, Mikey?" Maria pressed. 

"And do you love or hate being called Mikey?" Alex asked.

“ _ Mikey  _ is weird, it makes it sound like I’m either five or forty-five. And I don’t know, probably Gryffindor, I guess?”

“Max is definitely in Gryffindor too,” Alex said. “And everyone says Gryffindor.” 

“Changed my mind, then. Ravenclaw it is.”

“Michael!” Liz scolded, but she was laughing while she did it.

“Good, you’re a Ravenclaw, anyway,” Alex said, satisfied, and seeming additionally pleased that he had gotten Michael to agree with him. 

When the cupcakes were done they carried them all into the living room setup, where Mimi insisted on pictures. Maria and Liz shrieked at this proposal and ran to get dressed up—they had round fake glasses and robes, and Alex dutifully handed out sticks he had found to stand in for wands for everyone. 

“I’d have made them cooler, but it was short notice.” 

“No one poke anyone’s eye out,” Maria solemnly instructed. 

“Say cheese!” Mimi said.

Michael barely stood still long enough for the picture to be taken before he was turning to Alex, practically vibrating with excitement. 

“I bet I could make them glow. I was reading Rosa’s science textbook and it has like three chapters about circuits; we’d have to do something to conceal the battery and wires somehow, but I could totally do it.”

“What, you’re kidding!” Alex shouted, and then Liz was in on it, too, offering suggestions that were scientifically plausible but realistically improbable, like using phosphorescent algae to make the wands glow. Maria offered several suggestions, most of them involving glitter, to make them look pretty, but soon grew bored with the nerdy conversation and sat back to dig into the cupcakes. There were nerds and there were  _ nerds  _ for Maria. 

“Do you want to start the movie at any point, or…?” Mimi DeLuca asked, bringing them glasses of milk to go with the cupcakes, and fun kid-sized bottles of water with exciting curly-straws. 

“Thank you, Mimi!” Liz and Alex said dutifully. Alex even got up to give her another hug, which nearly broke her heart. She ruffled his hair again, until he disengaged and went back to sitting on his sleeping bag. The others took their positions too, with Maria stretching out on the couch and patting the spot beside her so Liz could lay down too. Michael waited until everyone else was seated and took a spot where he wouldn’t be close enough to get in anyone’s way, but Maria’s sharp eyes noticed.

“You can’t sit there, you won’t be able to see the TV well enough. You should be front and center—you haven’t seen them before!” And she and Liz both leaned off the couch to drag the sleeping bag across the floor until he was right beside Alex, his ears bright red at the attention.

“We can see past you! It’s fine!” Liz said, already closing her eyes. She had seen these movies dozens of times and liked the books better, so she was planning to get her sleeping in during the movie instead of being sleepy through the part where they talked about the movies after. 

“Okay, Mama, we’re ready!” Maria reported. “Are you gonna stay with us?” 

“No, thanks, baby. You kids holler if you need anything.” 

Michael ate his cupcakes slowly, getting frosting all over his face when he tried to eat without taking his eyes off the screen. His wide-eyed fascination with everything that was happening was everything Alex and Maria could have dreamed of, and Alex, who could see his face, kept turning to watch him instead of the movie at all the best parts.

As soon as the movie was over, Maria nudged Liz awake, and everyone wanted to talk at once.

“What was your favorite part, Mikey?” Liz asked. 

“Probably the part with the flying keys. Or the flying lesson. Or Quidditch. I want to fly so bad.” Michael went misty-eyed and wistful for a moment, then said, “They cut out the best trial, though. The one with the potions? That one’s the best.”

“Better than the flying one?” Maria asked dubiously.

Michael nodded and picked at the lining of the sleeping bag. “Yeah. It’s why Hermione’s my favorite—she’s not just smart, she’s smart in like a badass way.”

“Oh, everyone likes Hermione,” Alex said, rolling his eyes. “You’ll have to fight Liz and Maria for her.” 

“We can share a favorite character. Hermione’s just the best!” Liz said. 

“Well who’s your favorite character, then?” Michael asked.

Maria slid off the couch to change out the movie, then wiggled back into her spot next to Liz. She had to fish around in the cushions for the remote to press play on the home screen, shushing the speech Alex was about to deliver about the heroism of Ron Weasley. 

“Ron Weasley is obviously the real hero! The movies don’t do him justice! It’s the worst part of the movies!” Alex tried, but Maria and Liz dove on top of him, trying to smother him with pillows. 

“We get it! Ron’s the best! The movies suck! HUSH!” they cried. 

Liz swiftly dozed off again as the movie played and Alex fumed about his rant not being respected. Maria followed her by the halfway mark, but sugar and the twin excitements/anxieties of new movies and new friends kept Michael buzzing and awake until the credits started rolling and he focused hard on remembering all his thoughts so he could tell the girls in the morning.

Alex stayed up with him through the end, though, both of them so excited to talk about it once it was done. 

"I think the second movie is better and I'm excited for the next one. Will you want to come with us to see it? We usually dress up and go at midnight," Alex whispered as they turned off the TV and pulled their sleeping bags close so they could talk without waking up the girls. 

“If Mr. Ortecho says it’s okay, I’ll definitely come,” Michael whispered back, definitely not telling Alex that he’d never been to a movie theater before and didn’t know you had to dress up for them and definitely didn’t have anything to wear.

"Which spell do you wish you could do? I've always wanted a flying broom myself. I guess that's not really a spell."

“I want to fly too. And the brooms probably have spells on them, right? So I think it counts. But if not that...I don’t know.” 

For a second, Michael pondered what this conversation might be like if he could share his secret with Alex, who hated his dad in a way that both frightened Michael for him and made him feel safe in a twisted way, after what Mr. Valenti told him about Jesse Manes. 

But then he just said, “Maybe I’d want to be an Animagus, like Professor McGonagall. Turn into a coyote and live in the desert forever.”

“I wouldn’t want you to go,” Alex said, like it was automatic, almost like he didn’t know he was going to say it until it came out, and he blushed and looked away. “I mean. Maybe we could be like the Marauders. All of us have our animal forms, and we hang out. Unless you’d rather be a lone wolf coyote.” 

The vaguely teasing derision was back in his voice, but his eyes still looked at Michael with vague, unnamable longing. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to get on a broom and fly away either, which is something you could do,” Michael said. They were lit only by the light from the DVD menu screen, but Michael could see enough. “Hey, maybe your Animagus would be a bird, and you could have both. That would be really cool.”

“That would be so fucking sick,” Alex agreed. 

“Alexander,” Mimi DeLuca said, coming through and shutting off lights. “I don’t know what kind of ship Jesse is running but we don’t use those words casually around here.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Alex said sheepishly, but was grinning like he wasn’t really being chastised. 

“Put your heads down, boys. You don’t have to sleep, but heads stay on pillows, okay?” she said, getting on her knees and tucking them into their sleeping bags. 

Michael sat up, holding the pillow to the side of his face. “This okay?” 

Mimi laughed quietly and turned off the TV. “Seems pretty tiring.” 

But Alex was definitely grinning at him, so the joke landed well. 

Once Mimi had bid them goodnight and left the room, Michael scooted a little closer to Alex and whispered with a wide grin, “It would be pretty fucking sick.”

“I know! We could fly—well—well I could fly. Maybe I could be really big. Big enough to carry you. Like uh, a Condor. They’re big.” Alex scooted closer, ostensibly so they could whisper quieter, and not disturb their friends on the couch. “We could fly all over the world, wherever we wanted.” 

“I wouldn’t make you carry me,” Michael said. “I don’t have to be a coyote. I can be something with wings too.” 

Would he even be an Earth animal? He didn’t want to think about it.

He said, “Where would you want to go first?”

Alex rolled over and sat up on his elbows, forgetting the head-pillow rule. “I have a  _ list _ . Teotihuacán, Easter Island, the Pyramids at Giza. There’s a whole list at the UFO Emporium of places people think have been built by aliens. It’s bullshit, of course. Rosa says it’s just people not wanting to believe brown people built the wonders of the world…” Alex’s eyes flicked down. “I mean, I just want to see the things ancient humans built.” 

Michael still hadn’t been to the UFO Emporium; Max’s class went on a trip there for a local history lesson, but he had a panic attack at the alien autopsy room, so on the day for Michael’s class he faked getting Liz’s cold to get out of it. He did extra chores that week to make up for the lie and when Mr. Ortecho tried to give him a little spending money for his work he put it back in the till to make up for the wasted money that went to his ticket.

And of course Michael knew that aliens didn’t build the world’s wonders like the pyramids and stuff. If aliens had been on Earth that long, surely someone would have come for them by now. But it still hurt to hear Alex confirm that so casually, with so much satisfaction. It made Michael want to zip himself inside his sleeping bag and never come out. But then Alex continued:

“I think if they have anything to do with aliens, they were trying to communicate with them, you know? Building those huge, amazing monuments to the stars, just trying to get their attention.” Alex sighed and laid back on his pillow. “Anyway, I wanna see those. What about you?” 

Michael blinked at Alex in the darkness, mouth open but soundless, because he couldn’t figure out what to say. He had so many emotions just then, all stuffing themselves inside his lungs. He’d never wanted to reach out and touch someone so badly, to say all the things he wanted to with a hug that he couldn’t say with words.

So he just rolled onto his back and said, “I dunno. The Air and Space Museum in D.C., maybe? Or Cape Canaveral. Or maybe just somewhere you can see the stars really well.”

“Oh, you can see the stars great from here if you just get out of town a little,” Alex said, rolling over to face Michael again. He felt such boundless energy around Michael, such a strong desire to be near him. For the most part, Alex could take or leave people who hadn’t proven themselves to him first, but with Michael he felt a strange desire to prove himself to  _ him _ . “Out at Foster’s ranch, there’s some spots where the stargazing is great. I could totally take you.” 

Alex grinned. “We don’t even need wings for that. Maybe a ride.” 

Michael’s heart beat weirdly inside his chest, and he rolled over to face Alex in the darkness again. Still unsure what to say, he just held the sleeping bag to his chest and whispered, “Wings would still be really cool, though.”

Alex laughed softly, and it just made Michael’s weird chest-feeling worse.

“Yeah,” Alex said, “it would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh for it to be the year 2000 before JKR turned to the dark side...


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw this chapter for jesse manes being the fucking worst and alex having a bit of a self-blaming mentality about it

It was always something with Alex's dad. 

This time it was because Alex wanted to wait until the commercial break of _X-Men: Evolution_ to do his chores, which his dad said was _okay_! But when he'd gotten back to his room Willow's cage was gone and opened up in the backyard. The leopard gecko was nowhere to be found, and Alex had _lost it_. 

"Clearly you need fewer chores to manage," Jesse Manes had told him, and Alex, not for the first time or the last, had just hauled off and taken a swing at his father. 

Jesse knew better than to hit his son anywhere it showed, but he also knew how to cause accidents, making Alex trip or run into something, standing there cold as wax in the aftermath. Seeing his own blood as he careened into a bookshelf corner made Alex go even more ballistic, which just meant he got locked in his room to finish out his fit. 

Which he did, almost immediately. Alex didn't so much feel emotions as let himself feel the ones that suited him, and if no one was around to witness his rage it wasn't worth the energy. So he cleaned himself up, waited until things had quieted down outside, and packed a bag. He waited until it was dark, pretending to get ready for bed and go to sleep (of course this meant he was sent to bed without supper), and then snuck out of his bedroom window. 

As usual, he never planned to come back, though someone would make him at some point. He contemplated hurting himself more and going to Jim about it, but he didn't think his dad could be so easily defeated. He'd cut off his own leg if he could have a different dad. Maybe he should ask Michael about running away. It had seemed to work out okay for him…

Michael. 

Maybe that was why Alex wandered all the way downtown and stood outside the closed and darkened Crashdown, staring wistfully up at the second story. 

His attention was drawn swiftly, though, by movement inside, as Michael noticed him on the street and scrambled out of the booth he’d been curled up in, disarming the alarm and opening the door and poking his curly head outside.

Sleep was still hard for Michael—hard to capture and harder to keep, nightmares or weird pod dreams following him night after night. And when he woke up from those dreams, he had two ways of dealing with them. Sometimes he’d take his blanket and crawl under the bed Jim Valenti built for him, an even smaller and darker space than his little bedroom, where he kept his emergency food stash and some clothes and his knife and his backpack, which he wasn’t carrying everywhere anymore in case it got damaged more. But most nights, he’d tiptoe downstairs to the diner with its big windows and view of the night sky and just watch for hours, hoping to see something that looked like home. That’s where he was sitting, turning his knife over and over in his hands, when he spotted Alex looking small and alone out on the street.

“Alex? Why are you awake? Are you okay?”

“Why are _you_ awake? Are _you_ okay?” Alex parroted back, sounding way meaner than he actually intended to sound. He sniffed and wiped his nose, but it was just clear fluid this time, from the tears that he couldn’t physically stop. Ugh, this is what fights with his dad always did to him: he wanted to pick fights with _everyone_. Rosa was usually good to hang out with during these times, because she ignored him. But Michael...he didn’t want to take a chance that he'd screw up everything with Michael. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, turning away. “I’m just in a bad mood, I should—I shouldn’t have—seriously, why are you awake? I’m fucking running away, what’s your excuse?” 

(God, nasty again, what was wrong with him?) 

“I’m awake to talk to your gross face, clearly,” Michael snapped, but Alex laughed at that, like he appreciated it for some reason. 

Michael immediately softened. “I just can’t sleep sometimes. Mr. Ortecho says it’s okay and normal and I can talk to him, but I don’t want to worry him.” He looked Alex up and down, his hunched and beaten shoulders, the twisted set to his face, and said, “Do you want help running away? I did it before—that’s how I ended up here.”

“Maybe.” Alex shrugged. Something tugged at his heart when he said that, and he found he couldn’t go through with it. “I’d miss you guys too much.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe we’d miss you too.” Michael said, and jammed his fists into his pockets. He wanted to do something, maybe a brotherly sock to the shoulder like Max always gave him, but it didn’t feel right right now, like Alex was fragile, though he'd never tell him that. “Well, what do you want to do, then? You can come inside if you want. I don’t think Mr. Ortecho would be too mad.”

Alex stepped back shaking his head, shoulders hunching. “That’s all my dad would need, finding me sleeping under an ‘alien’s’ roof. I don’t want to do that to Mr. Ortecho. He’s nice.”

Michael flinched at that, both for Mr. Ortecho and at the word _alien_ , and he remembered to be scared of Jesse Manes for himself too, not just for Alex.

But before Michael could say anything else, Alex turned away, kicking a rock. He knew he couldn’t make himself feel better, but maybe making Michael happy would feel nice. “We could go look at the stars? I could show you the best spot out at Foster’s ranch.” 

Trying to keep his voice neutral and not overload Alex with his immediate excitement, Michael took a step forward. “That’s where the crash was, right? Hell yeah, let’s go!”

“Oh! Yeah?” Alex asked, back to his usual bemused wonderment at Michael Guerin. “You’ve been to that dumb museum, then?” Alex turned towards the road, looking for a car they might hitchhike with. “You can lock up?” 

“Oh, uh,” Michael fumbled, not wanting to lie, “No, I haven’t been, but uh, Max told me all about it. Sure, just give me a sec.” He darted inside to reset the alarm and then back out, locking the door behind him with his powers and bounding to Alex’s side. “Ready!”

Alex could feel himself literally being rejuvenated by Michael’s enthusiasm. “Great, because we might get kidnapped. Come on.” 

Alex had never really hitchhiked before, but he understood the general principle. They started heading west out of town, Alex walking with his thumb out.

Of course, the first car that pulled up and stopped was a huge loud clunker, and Alex stepped back, pushing Michael behind him. 

Michael plunged his hand into his pocket, gripping his knife so tight his fingers went cold, ready to throw the driver across the entire desert if he had to.

Or stab him. That, too.

“You kids got a death wish?” The one-eyed old man snapped, sticking his head out the window and scowling.

“No, sir,” Alex said, using his best make-his-father-happy voice, which worked on most adults, who liked how polite he was and how mature he sounded. It also made him sound vaguely tough. “Just trying to get out to the ranch and watch the stars. You headed that way?” 

“‘No sir,’” the old guy mocked, “I look like a sir to you? For that matter, I look like a rancher? Loosen up and look with the two eyes you still got!” His diatribe cooled off, then, though, and his eyes flicked between the two kids and he huffed. “I could be headed that way, yeah. If it’s gonna keep two tiny corpses on the front page news from ruining my fuckin’ breakfast.”

Michael glanced at Alex, uncertain, but after a second he couldn’t hold back a laugh, half nervous half disbelieving.

“We don’t want to be any trouble, sir,” Alex said, backing Michael away. He thought he vaguely knew this guy, like he was maybe the owner of the junkyard? Someone his dad didn’t like, which would normally be a good sign, except he was getting weird vibes from how this man was staring at Michael. Alex knew this guy’s name, it was the name of the junk yard. Samson? Stanford? “We’ll find another ride…” 

“What’s your name, kid?” the one-eyed man asked, glaring at Michael, though he hadn’t yet said a word. 

“What’s _your_ name, old man?” Michael piped up over Alex’s shoulder.

The old man barked out a laugh. “Fair! Fair, you little shit. Name’s Sanders.”

“I’m Michael. Guerin,” Michael said, even though Alex hissed at him for giving any information up.

“Well, get in the car, Michael Guerin and friend. ‘We’ll find another ride.’ Not everybody out joyriding at two in the morning is as nice as I am! Ha!”

Alex backed up like he wanted to get on the bed of the truck, but it was kind of full of rusty wire and things, and he didn’t think Michael’s tetanus shots were up to date. He sighed and scrambled up into the cabin, going first. 

“You don’t seem very nice,” Alex pointed out. “You didn’t ask _my_ name.” 

“That’s because I know who you are, Alex Manes.” 

Alex froze, immediately trying to push Michael out. 

“Easy, easy. I ain’t gonna tell your Daddy I saw you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Probably get me into more trouble than you.” 

Alex stared hard at the old man’s one eye. Anyone who saw through the sham of family man hero Sergeant Jesse Manes was someone he instantly trusted. 

“What happened to your eye?” Sanders asked, as Alex clambered back in. 

“I could ask the same of yours,” Alex responded primly, buckling himself and Michael into the same worn-out seatbelt. 

“Ha!” Sanders barked out another laugh. “Kids these days.”

The car ride was silent after that; Michael didn’t want to talk where a stranger could hear him, and Sanders seemed perfectly content with that, not saying anything except the occasional mumble under his breath. 

They rattled to a stop underneath the sign for Foster’s Homestead Ranch, and Sanders watched the kids clamber out with a baleful look in his eye. He watched them for a long moment, and then nodded, and turned around and peeled off without a word.

“People in Roswell are weird,” Michael said in the aftermath.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for child abuse again. dont worry, jesse will get what's coming to him
> 
> also note we posted a double-header today, so make sure you've read chapter 14 before proceeding here!

Breathing a huge sigh of relief after the man was gone, Alex pulled out a compact but serious-looking flashlight and led the way. His stomach rumbled, either from hunger or readjusting itself after he’d gotten it in knots on the ride over.

The sound of Alex’s hungry stomach turned Michael’s, and he fished in his pockets for something to fix it. He came up with two slightly squashed granola bars, he held one out to Alex.

“Here. This one’s for you.”

“Oh, really?” Alex said, taken aback into stopping. “You sure you don’t—need it? I mean, I can owe you. My dad just sent me to bed without dinner because he’s a dick.” 

Michael rolled his eyes. “You don’t owe me, man. Don’t go hungry out of pity.”

It suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world that Alex take the granola bar. How could Michael ever look Mr. Ortecho in the eye if he knew someone was hungry and didn’t pay it forward?

With a nod, Alex took the granola bar and immediately unwrapped it, eating as he walked, tracking them around sagebrush and tumbleweeds and big boulders to the best and biggest boulder for stargazing. “See how big the sky is out here already?”

“It’s _amazing._ ”

Michael was so busy looking up that he almost tripped multiple times, but it was worth it. The sky was enormous, so bright with stars and _colors_ that Michael could barely breathe for drinking it in.

He had come from there, once upon a time.

“Hey, come up here,” Alex said, and Michael realized suddenly that Alex was standing on top of a rock, pooling the light down at his feet so he could see where to step, and offering him a hand. “View’s even better.” 

Clambering up after him, Michael took a seat on the flat top of the rock, dangling his legs down to the ground below. Alex clicked off his flashlight, and once his eyes adjusted Michael couldn’t hold back his sharp intake of breath.

The sky went on forever, purple on silver, silver on black, a soft and distant blanket falling over both boys, continuing past the dark silhouettes of the mountains that ringed them, miles and miles away. 

Michael had never understood what _infinity_ meant before, and underneath it, he was speechless.

It was impossible to know how much time passed, but it was long enough for the moon to make a little progress across the sky before Michael finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Alex had looked at the stars before, and he thought them beautiful, but Michael was the novel stimulus here—or at least that was what he told himself—so he spent most of the time staring at Michael. At the way the starlight caught his eyes and his curls, and the way he smiled like no one was watching when he looked at them. He looked like he belonged up in them, which was a crazy thing for practical young Alex to think. 

“You’re welcome. Thanks for coming with me.” Alex swallowed and opened up his backpack. “I have a blanket. Want to share?” 

“Um, yeah, sure.” Michael didn’t really get cold a lot, but after sitting on a rock in the middle of a desert night for long enough, he was starting to feel his lack of a jacket. He shuffled closer so Alex’s blanket fit around both their shoulders. Their cold arms pressed together, and Michael hoped it would warm them both up faster.

“When I ran away,” Michael said, “I thought I would just live out in the desert until I found Max and Isobel. I didn’t really plan farther than that. I just knew I had to find them.”

Alex huffed, disbelieving, but when he spoke it was not what Michael expected to hear: “You came here for _them_?” 

He must have realized that this sounded rude, so he clarified his confusion. “I just mean...you hardly hang out with them or—or seem to like them or anything.” 

“It’s complicated. It’s like...We’re sort of siblings, but...yeah. Complicated. I came all this way for them, but they didn’t ask me to. I keep expecting them to realize that and tell me they never wanted me around in the first place.”

Alex frowned, and put his arm around Michael. “I hope you realize I don’t say this to a lot of people, Guerin, but I definitely want you around.” Then, in case that was too sappy, he added, “Especially if you have any more snacks. And look, why didn’t you grab a jacket? Here, I think I have one…” 

Alex rummaged through his bag: he _was_ prepared for survival, but that didn’t include snacks, apparently. He pulled out a light hoodie. It was better than nothing. 

“It’s okay, I’m warming up. Here, have another granola bar.”

After another long pause, in which Alex dropped his jacket into Michael’s lap anyway and ate the second granola bar, Michael spoke again, fingering the cuff of Alex’s hoodie.

“I don’t know where I come from, you know.” It was risky, but Alex hated his dad so much, and Michael felt—so close to him here. He wouldn’t give any details that might betray Max and Isobel, just...he wanted to talk about it with someone. Someone who wasn’t his sibling or a weird adult like Mr. Valenti. “So I know it’s stupid little kid stuff, but sometimes I think maybe I came from out there.” He gestured to the sky. “I know it’s stupid, you don’t have to laugh.”

Alex glanced at Michael, one eyebrow raised: it was a look he had perfected in order to be intimidating, but mostly it just made adults laugh. But on other kids it was generally effective, and Michael didn’t even flinch, so he thought carefully about what he was saying: hell, his dad believed in aliens, so…

“What makes you think that?” Alex asked, reserving his judgment. 

“Must’ve come from somewhere, right?” Michael laughed bitterly. “Which would you prefer—trash on the side of the road, or space alien?”

“I mean, space alien, obviously,” Alex said, before realizing that sounded rude, too. “Not that you _are_ trash on the side of the road, either way. What does that even mean?” 

“That’s the earliest memory I’ve got. Seven years old. Wandering next to the freeway. No idea what happened to me or where I came from. Wouldn’t you rather have fell from the sky?”

From what he found with Max and Isobel, “crawled out of the earth” would be more appropriate. But better not to tell too much of the truth. He felt a little bad cutting Max and Isobel out of the story, but that was for the best too.

“Sure, that sounds good to me,” Alex said, because he absolutely could relate, though maybe in a different way. He genuinely wished he had fallen out of the sky, _anything_ to be— _God, he was still so angry,_ even sitting here with kind, beautiful Michael Guerin. He grasped at anything, anything to not think about how much he hated where he had come from, a mother who had gotten out and who he didn’t blame even though she hadn’t taken him with her—

“So is that what you mean about the Evanses? You were all wandering next to the freeway? But maybe not related?” Alex said, surprising himself with how calm he sounded to his own ears. 

“Um, yeah.” Michael wrapped and wrapped the fabric of the hoodie around his hand. Maybe he needed to get better at lying if he wanted to survive. “But we were all together. And even though we don’t have memories...I don’t know. I can just tell we belong together. But clearly not everyone can...I mean, I had to run all the way from Albuquerque for a reason.” He sighed, then shook his head. “Enough about me, though! What about you? I meant it when I said I’d help you run away. I’ll hide you, or bring you food, or...anything,” he finished lamely.

“You really don’t have any memories?” Alex said, his brain just completely ignoring Michael’s questions, even though they were so sweet and thoughtful, beyond being the last thing he wanted to talk about. “From before you were _seven_ ?” Somehow this delighted Alex: “Maybe you _are_ an alien. You don’t know!” 

“It’s like...I forget to think about it, y’know? Like, more than half my life, is just...I’m fine most of the time. I just...wish I remembered my mom.” Michael clammed up and pulled his knees up to his chest, Alex’s hoodie still cradled in his lap. 

Alex grew serious, squeezing his arm around Michael’s shoulders. “I...get that. I barely remember mine. The rest I...don’t care about, though.” 

They sat in silence under the stars like that for several minutes. “Maybe we can go to space, someday. My dad’s going to make me join the armed forces when I turn eighteen and, ah, maybe after that, I could apply to NASA. Maybe by then we’ll have flights to Mars, and we could just—we’d figure out a way for you to come with me. Run away for _real_.” 

Maybe Alex, not one for fanciful daydreams outside of his appropriately cordoned off love for science fiction and fantasy, felt like anything was possible with Michael, or like he was prepared to lie and say that anything was possible just to make Michael happy. 

A bolt of cold fear stabbed through Michael’s stomach, and he sat up straight. “Wait, your dad’s sending you away? No! No, we would have to run away before that!”

Without thinking, Michael grabbed Alex’s hand and squeezed it tight.

“It’s just what happens in my family,” Alex said, with an alarming amount of acceptance. He forced a smile, his gut clenching at how his revelation had upset Michael so much. “I wouldn’t mind running away, though. We could leave on the eve of my eighteenth birthday. Where would we go?” 

“I don’t know! Anywhere you wanted. Those wonders of the world you talked about—whichever one’s closest. Or hell, just to Albuquerque, and we’ll blend in, we’ll—we’ll—we can both get scholarships and go to college. Liz talks about that all the time, she’s like, already planning for it, so we can too. We’ll figure _something_ out.”

Alex sighed, oddly relaxed by this, wonderfully comforted. “Guess I better start caring about school, huh? If I’m gonna keep up with you and go to college.” 

Alex nudged Michael with his elbow, then shifted the blanket so it was under his butt and laid back, staring up at the stars. He whispered, “It’ll be okay,” though he didn’t know why. 

Michael nodded to the sky and hoped he sounded half as confident and comforting as Mr. Ortecho when he agreed. “Yeah. It will.”

Their moment of peace passed, though, when the sound of a car on the nearby road threw them both into high gear, both boys scrambling off the boulder and behind it to hide.

Alex was shoving things into his bag when a voice he recognized all too well came out of an amplifier: 

“Alex! Michael? Alex?” 

“It’s the sheriff!” Michael said. “Guess that Mr. Sanders ratted us out.” 

“It’s Kyle’s _mom_ ,” Alex corrected, knowing she was safe. She would make him go back to his dad eventually, but only because she had to, and she wouldn’t like it. He stepped out from behind the rock and waved. 

“Hi, Sheriff Valenti,” he said, sounding vaguely defeated. “We were just looking at the stars!” 

Michelle Valenti all but collapsed with relief, rushing over to them, checking them over for injury, less sheriff and more mother, for all that neither Alex nor Michael had much experience with what mothers were like. She didn’t get far in her inspection before she crouched down and gripped Alex by his shoulders. “Alex Manes, what happened to your face?” 

Alex pulled away. “Got into a fight with dad. Tripped.” 

Michelle’s mouth thinned, her face going stony and stern, the way she clamped down to keep from raging in a way that would help neither boy and certainly wouldn’t hurt Jesse Manes the way he deserved. Michael watched him with a solemn face, and that broke her heart too, how well the boy knew what those words meant, even more intimately than Michelle herself.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said firmly. “Do you want to have a sleepover with Kyle tonight? It’s your call, Alex.”

Alex rubbed his eyes, turning into a little boy. “I don’t want to be any trouble. It’s not long until dawn.” 

“No, but you boys should get some rest,” Michelle began, sighing as she looked back and forth between them. Her eyes lighted on Michael. “He put you up to this?” 

“No. It was my idea. I knew he and his dad got into a fight, so I suggested we run away. It’s my fault.” Michael declared, jutting his chin out in Michelle’s direction.

Michelle gave him a queer look at that, like she had seen a ghost. 

“Alright,” she said, and laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling him under her arm when he didn’t resist. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal. It’s almost...whoo, almost four. Practically breakfast time. So we’ll go to the Waffle House, I’ll buy breakfast, and neither of you tell Arturo Ortecho I betrayed him like this, okay?” 

Alex grinned and shrugged. “I could go for waffles.” 

Michael huffed out a short sigh. It would be more complicated to repay the sheriff than it was to leave money in the till at the Crashdown, but he’d figure something out. Still, dinner was a long time ago now, and he was hungry, so he got in the sheriff’s car beside Alex without a fuss.

He probably wouldn’t get back to the Crashdown before Arturo woke up to start opening, at this rate. His stomach felt like a rock at the thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret being there for Alex, even if it killed him that Mr. Ortecho would probably be upset. 

“You should come back to the Crashdown with me,” Michael whispered, trying one last time, wanting to reach out for Alex’s hand but afraid it would be weird now that they weren’t alone under the stars anymore.

“We’ll drop you off first, when we’re done,” Michelle said gently. “And I’ll talk to Arturo. You won’t be in any trouble, Michael.” 

The Waffle House was dim and soulless, but it smelled good. Michelle ushered Michael and Alex into a booth together, and put some money in the jukebox to cover their conversation. 

“Now, Alex...” she began after they ordered. 

“I told you everything already,” Alex said. “I can handle him. He just—” Alex’s lip actually wobbled before he got a hold on it and clammed up, his entire face shutting down, separating his feelings from himself. “ _I can handle him._ ” 

Michelle closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. To Michael, it looked like she had aged ten years since he last saw her at the Crashdown, and an uneasy wave of sympathy and vague guilt washed through him. 

She put her hand on the table, palm up, so Alex could take it if he wanted, and she said, “Alex. It is very important that you know you shouldn’t have to. Parents...they’re meant to protect their children, okay? I know that isn’t always how it works, God knows I know, but that is _no fault of yours._ Do you understand me, son?”

Alex took her hand and shrugged. His lip wobbled again, but less this time. “It’s not...it’s not really me I’m worried about. He…”

Alex took several breaths, obviously laboring not to cry. “I didn’t _do anything_ , and he got rid of my—of Willow. My leopard gecko. Like she didn’t even matter. He’s such a fucking sack of fucking shit! And—and I got mad. I really did try to hit him, and I really did trip and bust my own face, you can tell Mr. Valenti it’s alright. I waited 'til dark and ran away. Michael came with me because he’s cool.”

Trying to comfort him however he could, Michael bumped their shoulders together.

“That—” Michelle cut herself off to swear under her breath, like Alex hadn’t proven well enough already that he already had an excellent vocabulary. Then she took a deep breath and continued, “I’m so sorry he did that. I will not tell Jim that it’s _alright;_ taking your pet away like that is still very, very wrong, okay? I wish…” She trailed off with another world-carrying sigh, but this time didn’t finish her thought. Alex didn’t need to be burdened with the failures of other adults in his life. And hell, the other Manes boys were being failed too, growing up in those conditions.

Eventually, she continued, “Alex, I want you to always think of my house as a safe place, okay? Next time you need something, call Jim or myself, and we will come find you, no matter where you are, or when, or why. Understand?”

“I know,” Alex said, clamming up and looking down as the lone cook brought their food over. When he was gone, Alex spoke again: “I know that, Sheriff. I could have gone to you, or the DeLucas—I could have stayed at the Crashdown, I’m sure.” He shrugged, glancing to his side. “I just wanted to get out of Roswell. With Michael.”

Michelle nodded. 

“Alright, but that could have been very unsafe. Next time maybe you can ask Jim to take you guys camping.” She turned her gaze on Michael. “And you, young man. You have got to stop trying to take blame for others. Lies like that have a way of growing out of proportion.” 

Michael _hmphed_ and stared defiantly back at her. She was right, but he didn’t care. Since he came to Roswell so many people had helped him, welcomed him. All those debts? He had nothing to pay them back with but loyalty. Michelle only punctuated her words with a stern look. Her entire life had taught her that you couldn’t win every battle in the same night.

“Eat up, boys, and let’s get you home.”

That last word landed like a belly-flop into cold water between them, and god if Michelle didn’t wish she had more to give than four a.m. waffles and a pack of platitudes. 

“Michael, I want to get you home first because Arturo will be worried sick if he wakes up and you aren’t there,” Michelle explained. “And Alex, I want you to talk to Jim, and we’ll both go with you back to your house.” 

Alex shrugged. Whatever happened next, it couldn’t ruin the wonderful night he’d had with Michael, and he hoped Michael thought the same, or at least knew how he felt. He slid closer to him, like he could communicate it through touch. “That’s fine. Thanks, Sheriff.” 

* * *

For all Michael worried about getting home in time to not worry Arturo, when they pulled up to the Crashdown, he was reluctant to leave the car, hovering with his hand over his seatbelt buckle, chewing on his lip.

“I’ll see you at school on Monday, okay? Or sooner, if you want to hang out again and if I get my chores done, okay?”

He spoke so softly, and Michelle made sure she was very preoccupied with looking out the window to give the boys their moment.

Alex gave an equally soft murmur of assent, and after another lingering moment, Michael got out of the car. Looking over his shoulder multiple times as he went, he disappeared around the building and up to the apartment entrance, and was gone.

Things were somehow even more serious without him there. Alex was sullen, no matter how Michelle tried to comfort him, and even more so through his talk with Jim. Driving that boy back to the Manes house was one of the hardest things she’d ever fucking done.

She and Jim sat in the car for a while after Alex left, waiting to hear signs of any sort of disturbance, and into that quiet, Michelle spoke.

“If that boy ever comes around with bruises again, I’m going to have to hand in my gun and badge too and take matters into my own hands. I can’t stand it, Jim.”

“You don’t mean that, Michelle,” her husband said, because he knew her, damn the man.

“No. But I wish I did. What on Earth are we going to do?”

They’d tried the official channels once before. And it wasn’t like Jim and Michelle Valenti didn’t know the score, but it was still uniquely terrifying to see how Jesse had pulled the strings to make all charges disappear. And then it had been his wife who disappeared—who still wouldn’t answer Michelle’s calls or emails or letters.

What on Earth indeed, Jim thought, and took Michelle’s hand.

* * *

Jesse Manes was so good at playing the relieved father, so glad to have his darling boy home at last (like he’d even noticed he was gone), that the act continued even after the Valentis left. Alex sat in his room, staring at the empty spot on his shelf where Willow’s cage used to be. His math book was right next to it, and he knew he should be doing his homework, so that he and Michael could run away together, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when he was holding his hoodie and it smelled like Michael, like the first few seconds before a rainstorm started. 

“Hey, dweeb!” he heard Flint call from somewhere. Maybe the backyard. He should probably go take care of Willow’s cage before he got in trouble for that, too. Alex heaved himself up and went outside, stuffing the hoodie under his pillow like he thought his dad might take that away, too. 

Outside, Flint was crouched by the back porch stairs, messing with something. “Get over here, dipshit,” he said when Alex poked his head out. Both of them glanced back and forth, like their father could be lurking behind the nearest rock or shrub.

“W-what?” Alex asked, hoping he didn’t look like he had been crying, not in front of his brother. His brother looked more like their mother, which Alex had never thought was fair. It made it very hard to disappoint him in particular. “What’s—holy shit!” 

Alex covered his mouth, managing to not be as loud as he wanted to be. 

“ _Willow_!” he hissed.

Flint had one hand over her, holding her rather roughly to the ground to keep her from running, and she had dropped her tail, but that was her! Alex scrambled to pick her up, trying not to cry. “Flint! Flint, what am I gonna do with her? She’s a fugitive!” 

“Quit wetting your panties, for starters,” Flint said, but there was no heat behind it. “Here, look.” 

Flint held out a tupperware container that he’d scraped some of the scattered bedding from her tank into—it was dirty and wouldn’t be good for her, but he’d _tried_ —and snapped a lid he’d drilled a couple holes into with a pencil over top of it once Alex deposited her.

Alex pulled the tupperware to his chest, and Flint just straightened up, wiped his dirty hands on Alex’s jacket, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

He said, “Look, you know you can’t keep her. You’re gonna have to find someone else to take care of her.” He hesitated. “Dad just wants us to be strong, y’know? You were probably too attached to her or something. But...what happened last night wasn’t cool, so. There. Tell anyone and I’ll ruin your life.”

He clapped his hand on Alex’s shoulder in what he probably thought was a manly gesture. 

Alex nodded. He didn’t dare thank Flint, not for disobeying dad. He’d take it as an insult. All he said was, “I’ll figure it out.”

* * *

Willow went to live with the DeLucas after that, and Maria and Alex became jointly responsible for her care. Maria made sure she had fresh water and bedding, while Alex made sure to do the feeding involving bugs once a week (where Maria drew the line). Willow’s tail grew back in after several months, and even though it was a duller color than the rest of her, she seemed otherwise no worse for the wear, happy to live out her days as Willow DeLuca-Manes. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so ends part 1! but never fear, part 2 will go up on Monday and the posting schedule will stay the same. thanks so so much to everyone who read and ESPECIALLY to all the lovely commentors! <3

Michelle wasn't taking Rosa Ortecho’s existence personally. She felt for the girl, dealing with an absentee mother who had upset their family as much as hers. It should have been an opportunity to bring their families together. She liked Arturo. She loved Jim, when she didn't want to kill him. 

But Rosa Ortecho, like many children in this situation, loved to challenge the world to show her what it really thought of her. Michelle could respect that. But that didn't mean that a rogue art installation on the corner of 4th and Central _signed by Rosa_ could go uninvestigated, she thought, as she made her way into the Crashdown, removing her hat.

It was near closing time, just a few straggling customers dotting the booths and tables, nursing coffee or dessert or the last bits of their dinners. She ordered a coffee for herself and took a seat at the bar. Arturo appeared at the kitchen window, worry creasing deep lines into his face, and Michelle gave him her most reassuring smile and nod. She wasn’t here to get Rosa in trouble, not really; God willing, Arturo could nip this in the bud, and it would never come to that.

Turning to face the dining room, Michelle spied Michael Guerin in the back corner booth, table scattered with textbooks, staring at her with deep suspicion in his face. But when she smiled at him, he gave her an awkward wave in return before sinking back behind the booth seat.

Michelle drank her coffee slowly, finishing just as the last customer headed out into the night and Michael dutifully went over to lock the door as the staff began the process of closing down. Arturo left them to it, coming around to talk to Michelle and wipe down tables at the same time. She grabbed a cloth herself, despite Arturo’s tutting.

“What’s this about, Michelle,” he asked quietly, “What happened?”

“There’s been some...we’ll call it _unsanctioned_ art.”

Arturo pinched his brow. “I’ve _told_ her… She—she will clean it up. And if you can just give us time, I’ll pay the fine…” 

Michelle held up her hand. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that and tell you that since it’s her _first offense,_ I’ll let her off with a warning. A little community service might be good for her, so she can still clean it up if you agree, but…”

Wrapped up in conversation, neither of them had noticed little ears eavesdropping, not until a defiant voice piped up from behind them.

“She didn’t do anything. It was me. I’ll clean it up.”

The set of that little jaw was becoming devastatingly familiar in the present day. It hadn’t been there three years ago, but clearly this child hadn’t changed that much.

Michelle was so tired.

"Miguel, sit down and be quiet," Arturo said sharply in Spanish, speaking so quickly and automatically in the tone reserved for Family Business that he forgot that, while Michael's Spanish was already pretty good, Michelle's was better. He sighed and tried again in English: "We value the truth in this family. Truth and responsibility."

Michelle chewed on her lip. "Arturo, may I talk to your boy alone?"

"Sí," Arturo said, sounding tired as she felt. "I will send Rosa to come speak to you…"

"Thank you, Arturo," Michelle said, and followed Michael back to his homework booth. 

Michael folded his arms and slumped down deep in the seat, but his stubborn eyes never left hers except to glance over to check if Arturo was out of earshot. 

“It _was_ me,” he repeated. “That rose it was signed with? I did that to frame her, but I feel guilty, so now I’m coming clean.”

"Mm, clever," Michelle said, because he was a smart boy, and would have made a good criminal, but that was not happening on her watch. "But she didn't sign with a rose this time. She used her name, Michael."

He slumped even further.

Next time he spoke, his voice was small and flat. “Fine. But I don’t care about getting in trouble for lying. I’ll do community service with Rosa too. I’m fine.”

"I know you don't, Michael. You never _have_."

Michelle sighed hugely and looked around, making sure no one was listening in too closely. 

"I was on the case when you and the Evans children were brought in. Mute, naked, alone. It was my duty to discover what happened to you, and I never could. You are the one who is owed some justice, Michael."

If Michael slumped down any further he’d slide off onto the floor, so he didn’t, but it was a near thing.

“Nobody owes me anything,” he muttered. “Me and Isobel and Max are _fine._ Who needs memories, anyway? B-but, uh…” he fidgeted, not sure what to do with the idea that she really cared. “Um. Thank you, Mrs. Valenti. Sheriff, I mean. For trying. I didn’t know anybody had...tried.” 

"Don't thank me, Michael. I didn't do enough. I was there in the group home the night the Evanses…"

Here she stopped, looking nervous, like she wasn't sure Michael could handle the truth. "I don't know what you remember from that night."

Michael shrugged and started kicking his foot, his heel thumping against the booth with every pass. “Not much. It’s all fuzzy. There was red all over the walls? And someone was screaming. But we were confused, we didn’t know where we were or who anyone was, so...no, I don’t remember. I just know that I was bad, so the Evanses didn’t want me.”

“Right, _okay_ ,” Michelle said, in a stern voice that was not going to allow for any argument. Michael had seen Kyle wilt under this tone—heck, he’d seen Jim Valenti resign himself to whatever she said in this tone. “I’m noticing a pattern with you, and it stops here, Michael Guerin. Lying to protect other people, feeling like you’ve got to take the fall for things other people do. That’s very brave, and you are a good kid, but all that’s going to do is set you on a path to resenting the people you’re trying to protect.” 

“I _won’t!_ ” Michael rocketed up straight and glared at her. “Look, I just know that I’ve handled stuff, so if people are gonna get in trouble, I can handle that too. Better than other kids. It just makes sense, I’m not being _brave._ ”

Brave was stuff like Alex and Kyle being ready to face down a bully for a kid they didn’t even know, or Maria taking Alex’s lizard from him at school even if her mom might’ve said no. Courage didn’t come into play here, Michael hated getting punished even for things that _were_ his fault, it was just...arithmetic.

“You are being brave, hijo,” Michelle said. “Too brave. Just like you were the very first time I saw you in that group home. You protected Max, you know. And that was a very brave, very good thing to do, and if Max could remember I think he’d be grateful to you every day. But you ended up hurt because of it, and that’s what I’m trying to prevent from now on, okay?” 

“I...protected Max?” 

“You did,” Michelle replied kindly.

“B-but...I….” His lip wobbled dangerously, and he jumped to his feet like he was ready to bolt. Michelle grasped his arms, and he let her shake him, very gently, but for emphasis. 

“Because you’re a good boy, and a brave boy. And I don’t want you thinking any differently of yourself from now on. Do you understand me, Michael?” Michelle told him, a weird blend of motherly and sheriff-y. “Protecting someone by lying hurts more people, in the long run. I’m not going to stand for it, and Arturo won’t, either.” 

At the mention of Arturo’s name, Michael glanced over his shoulder at him, and when he turned back to Michelle he nodded. He wouldn’t disappoint Mr. Ortecho. Not if he could help it.

“Okay, Sheriff Valenti,” he said seriously. “Um...could you give me a ride? There’s somewhere I want to go.”

“That depends,” Michelle said, taking a gamble on this but thinking her odds were good that Michael liked even exchanges. “You help me keep your sister Rosa out of trouble? Without lying for her? Badly, I might add?” 

Michael wasn’t sure, but she might have winked at him. 

“Hmph. I’ll try.” He stuck his hand out, and Michelle shook it with a quiet laugh, then went to tell Arturo she was taking his boy on a little field trip.

* * *

As soon as they got to the Evans house, Michael took off into the backyard after the sound of his siblings' voices.

“Michael!” Max cried as he rounded the side of the house, running to meet him before stopping hard just a couple feet away, bouncing on his feet, completely squirming. Michael stood silent. He could feel the love and nervousness pouring off him in waves. Had been able to ever since the cave.

“Can I hug you?” Max asked.

“Of course we can,” Isobel said, but stopped short of actually hugging Michael, just in case he said no.

Michael didn’t even respond, just stared at the both of them, eyes flicking back and forth between them, and whatever he saw there must have given him some sort of answer, because he threw himself into them, wrapping one arm around each of their shoulders, hugging them both to him tightly. He buried his face in Max’s shoulder, still silent, and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping not to be shoved away.

“What _happened_ , Michael?” Isobel asked, but Max just grabbed him with both arms. 

Michael couldn’t be sure, but it felt like they were communicating without words what they couldn’t say aloud. For minutes they were just hugging and silently communicating like that, sharing memories, feelings, and words.

At the end of it Max’s eyes were wet, feeling guilty and grateful, and he said, “ _Thank you_.” 

“Y-you know, then? You could hear me, just now? What the sheriff told me?” Michael babbled, pulling back just enough to speak even though both his siblings tightened their arms around him at the slightest indication he might pull away.

“Yes, and I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—” Max practically blubbered. 

“We could, we could, Michael,” Isobel said, pulling him back into a hug, more on her side, since she felt left out of the last one. “And we’ll keep working at it, we’ll make sure you can hear us all the time, whenever you want, so the three of us are all together, okay?”

“You were there for us. We’re here for you. I’m here for you,” Max said, openly bawling. "I'm s-sorry—I—"

"Max, we were kids," Isobel stated. 

"It's okay, Max," Michael agreed. "I love you." 

"I love you, too," Max hiccuped. 

“Also he’s in love with your sister,” Isobel added. “So he loves you _and_ needs you.” 

“ _Isobel_!” 

“Stop, stop crying, Max,” Michael said with a huge sniff, because he _wasn’t_ crying, too, he _wasn’t._ “Stop crying, you big baby, it’s okay, I’ll tell Liz whatever you want, okay?”

"Okay," Max said, wiping his face on his sleeve. 

“It’s okay. We’re okay. I’m…”

He was _happy._ With his two families, with the place he’d found for himself in Roswell, with the friends he had made. No matter what had happened then, what happened next, how scared or angry he still was sometimes, he had a _home_ now.

Isobel clung to him tighter, and Max pulled away a little bit to give her more room, but in doing so he decided to fill the space between them with words instead.

“We’re going to make up for lost time,” he declared. “Anything you need. We’re going to be best friends. A-as long as you want to be.”

“Yeah, sure, okay Max. Now get back in here.”

And Michael pulled him back into the hug.

* * *

Inside, Ann Evans had dutifully offered the sheriff a cup of coffee, and Michelle had dutifully accepted, as she was going to stay as long as Michael wanted to stay. 

"It's so nice to see them reuniting," Ann said. "I just can't believe that's the same boy we saw screaming and drawing on the walls in the group home three years ago. I'm so glad he found help."

Michelle thought about it, she really did, before keeping herself in check. It would be unfair to Ann Evans to tell her that the child she _thought_ needed so much 'special attention' was in fact her bookworm son, and the one who grew up thinking he hadn't been wanted because he was 'bad' was, well. 

One more look at Michael with a huge, bright, real smile on his face soon had her changing her mind. 

"Actually, Ms. Evans…"

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for It Takes a Village](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289823) by [lychee_jelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lychee_jelly/pseuds/lychee_jelly)




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